


Girls! Girls! Girls!

by BulletproofTrash



Series: Strangers and Angels 'verse [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, CPS, Child Protective Services, Dean Winchester Hates Witches, Dean Winchester Menstruates, Female Dean Winchester, Female Sam Winchester, Gen, Genderbending, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Silly, There's A Tag For That, Weirdness, Witches, Wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-14
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulletproofTrash/pseuds/BulletproofTrash
Summary: Silliness.Set pre "All Hell Breaks Loose II" in the Strangers and Angels universe.
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & Original Character(s)
Series: Strangers and Angels 'verse [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019070
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a repost from [Girls! Girls! Girls!](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4922982/1/Girls-Girls-Girls) by user [reading](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/443241/) on fanfiction(dot)net
> 
> Credits to this work and all the works in this series belong to them.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

The shock had worn off and been replaced by a vague sort of disgust.

Sam blinked enormous, nonplussed eyes at him. "We're girls," he repeated. For, like, the 18 _billionth_ time.

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean ground out, glaring at himself in the mirror over the dresser in their room. His eyes shifted to Sam beside him in the reflection.

Sam's attention had returned to the two of them in the mirror. Dean looked around 15, dark-blonde, chin-length hair, freckles over a snub nose and green-eyes; Sam was 10 or 11, several inches shorter now than his brother, a mess of wavy, chestnut hair down past his shoulders, narrow ski-jump nose and hazel eyes.

Sam squinted at their reflections, touching the tips of the hair falling over his chest with his fingers. "We're girls," he said again. He sounded the same way he looked. Like a little girl.

"Stop saying that." Dean tried to growl it, but his own voice had gained an octave or two and even in his own ears he was starting to sound a little hysterical. He clamped his lips together and cleared his throat.

_You have got to be kidding me._

* * *

The night before they'd both collapsed on the one bed in the room that hadn't been strewn with weapons and books and research. Neither had been hurt badly, but they'd been exhausted beyond care, three solid days and nights of a hunt for a witch that had cumulated in a fight that had been brutal physically and psychically. Dean hadn't understood more than half of the curses the old hag had hurled at them, only doing what he could to fend them off as he and Sam had worked to contain the bitch and end her control of the small community.

They'd been relatively unscathed—scrapes and bruises aside—once they'd managed to dispatch her, left doubled-over and panting in the center of her wrecked living room after she'd disappeared with a shriek and a plume of pink smoke. They'd staggered to the Impala congratulating themselves on a job well-done, driven the three miles back to the motel, and fallen face down and side-by-side onto the bed closest to the door. Both had been asleep before they'd hit the mattress.

Over the years Dean had awakened more times than he should probably acknowledge to the sight of a girl he didn't know sleeping next to him. But never before had he opened his eyes to a pre-pubescent one. If he'd toppled off the opposite side of the bed with a fairly undignified and kind of girly squeak, he thought he could be excused.

The fact that Sam had made an equally undignified exit from the bed when he'd groggily woken to the sound of Dean's thump onto the floor and been confronted by Dean's teenage-girl visage peeking warily over the side of the mattress had been something of a consolation.

Now they stood in front of the mirror still clad in the t-shirts they'd been wearing the night before. They'd been fully clothed when they'd fallen into bed, but neither jeans nor boxers had stayed in place and... yeah. Dean _really_ didn't want to revisit that. Ever. He'd taken one horrified look down at his new self and averted his eyes. And if Dean had felt vaguely dirty after a single glance at the slender body of what was clearly that of a still-developing teenage girl, he could only imagine how Sam had felt.

Surely they'd have this resolved before either of them had to shower.

* * *

"OK, so how's this?" Sam was sitting cross-legged on the bed, swimming in his t-shirt, computer open in front of him, composing an email to Bobby. They'd decided that there was pretty much no way they'd be able to hide the changes in their voices over the phone, so they'd opted for claims of no service and malfunctioning cell phones instead. Because there was also no way they were going to subject themselves to Bobby Singer's unending ridicule at the two of them turned into little girls.

Sam was reading the email he'd written, and Dean listened with half an ear as Sam spun his story for Bobby. Sam had a better handle on some of the language the witch had used – freakin' _witches_ – during their altercation, and was giving the older man enough back-story coupled with the witch's spell work to weave a fairly credible lie about two _other_ guys who had been turned into little girls.

And what the _hell?_ They were little _girls._

With Sam's attention fully on the computer, Dean was able to study the changes in his younger brother unobserved. Sam's face was squinched up in concentration as he tried to adjust his technique to the tiny hands he was currently sporting, and Dean watched in a kind of appalled fascination. Sam was awash in the shirt he was wearing, collar gaping over his collar-bone, slightly askew and falling off a frighteningly fragile-looking shoulder. This was just _wrong_. On so many different levels.

"What do you think?"

Dean shook himself, realizing from the tone of Sam's voice that this wasn't the first time the question had been asked. Dean met his brother's searching, annoyed gaze. Damn. Sam was a little girl.

"Fine," Dean said. _Not a little boy with long hair. But a girl, features still Sam, but delicate in a way they'd never been before, not even when he'd been a child._

"Dean," Sam said in exasperation. He moved his hair impatiently out of his face.

"What?" Dean responded. _Not just shaking his hair out of his eyes, but tucking it behind an ear in a gesture that was so feminine it made Dean's stomach turn over._

"Were you even listening?"

Dean scowled at him. "Yes, I was listening," he defended himself.

The expression on Sam's face told Dean how little he believed him. "So? Should I send it?"

"Yeah. Send it." Dean pushed himself up from his chair.

Sam did and set the computer to the side. He drew his knees up under his t-shirt. He was so small. "What now?" he asked, resting his chin on a knee and watching Dean complacently.

Dean shrugged and opened the curtain slightly to look out at the parking lot. They were actually in pretty good shape cash-wise. And they'd used a credit card for the room, so Dean thought they could manage another couple of days extending their stay if they needed to before they'd run into trouble on that front. In the meantime they needed to find some clothes that would fit them better. But getting somewhere in public without being picked up... that might be problematic. He turned and looked consideringly at Sam.

His brother's head came up. "What?" he asked suspiciously.

* * *

One advantage of staying in the types of no-tels they usually did was that haphazardly attired children didn't necessarily set off the alarms they might in better areas. Kids dressed in over-sized (or undersized) clothes, making due with what they had wasn't that uncommon.

So when Sam, dressed in one of his own t-shirts and a belt cinching the waist, walked bare-footed into the convenience store down the street, he didn't prompt a call to the police or CPS. And if the abraded skin on his jaw-line did elicit a pinched expression from the middle-aged man at the register when he put two pairs of flip flops and a box of cereal on the counter, Sam managed to allay the man's concern enough with an easy smile and courteous "thanks."

The shoes had gotten them both on the bus and headed to a nearby Wal-Mart.

Dean scowled at the boys who watched them go by in their t-shirt dresses as they clambered off the bus and into the store. He was wearing one of Sam's shirts, too, as it hit further down his legs than his own.

"Perverts," he muttered under his breath, hunching his shoulders forward and crossing one arm tightly across his chest even as he tugged the hem of the shirt down. It was cool enough that their lack of warm clothes was prompting stares from more than just adolescent boys. The sooner they got out of these clothes, the better, Sam thought.

"Dude, they're your _age_ ," Sam said. "And they weren't looking at me." Sam wasn't exactly sure why Dean was so freaked out by the attention, but he didn't take the time to think too carefully about it, scanning the signs as they moved into the cavernous building. _Where was the...?_

"Shut up," Dean hissed, ducking behind a rack of clothes and yanking shirts off their hangers.

Sam eyed the picture of a pregnant woman on the nearby the display. "I don't think those are going to fit," he said carefully.

Dean finally looked at the sizes and realized they were in the maternity department. He snarled at his brother and stalked away.

Sam hurried after him, shorter leg frustratingly slow in helping him keep up. He'd always hated this part of being younger. Getting as tall as and then taller than his brother had had a number of perks. And while teasing-rights had been at the top of that list, not always having to run to keep pace had been a very close second.

Finally in an appropriate section of the store, they grabbed jeans and shirts and sneakers and boots, neither even considering girls' clothes as they rifled hurriedly through the boys' racks. It wasn't a challenge to find clothes for Sam. His little-girl body wasn't all that different from its male counter-parts at that age. For Dean though...

"Damn it!"

Sam was standing outside the dressing room door, and his brother's displeasure had gotten louder and increasingly vulgar the more things he tried on.

"What?" Sam asked warily, smiling nervously at the women in the corridor who were casting disapproving looks his way.

"If they fit at my hips, they're too big at the waist!"

Sam was sure it was his imagination that Dean sounded on the verge of tears. Sam had gotten another pair of jeans the last time Dean had sent him out for more options. He braced himself. "Here." He opened the door a crack. "Try these."

The jeans were snatched out of his hand, and Sam was positive he _hadn't_ heard a disconsolate sniff through the opening at the same time. Under the door he saw the pants Dean had just tried on puddle to the floor before being kicked spitefully aside. The new jeans went on.

"Hey. These fit."

"Yeah?" Sam tried for casual. "Great. You want me to get you another pair?" He thought maybe if he rushed it Dean wouldn't...

" _Flower Petal_?"

Too late. Dean had seen the tags.

"What the _hell_ , Sammy? You got me _chick_ jeans?" Dean's outraged shriek had the disapproving looks deepening into unhappy frowns. Sam grimaced back apologetically. _Sorry_ , he mouthed.

"Look, dude," Sam whispered fiercely, trying to push the door open even as it was being shoved stubbornly back at him when he managed to get it slightly ajar. "You're a girl, OK? Right now you're a girl." The door suddenly swung open, and Sam staggered into the small room. Dean jerked him out of the way before he slammed the door shut behind them. "And you're, like," Sam went on undaunted in the face of his brother's scowl, "developing," Dean's cheeks flamed crimson, "so your hips are, you know, starting to," Sam made vague rounding motions with his hands before Dean slapped them down furiously, "curve, so you can't..."

"Fine!" Dean shouted at him, right in his face.

"Girls!" There was a peremptory knock on the door. "That's enough! If you can't..."

Dean opened his mouth, clearly intent on unleashing a barrage of language that was liable to get them arrested or at least kicked out of the store before they'd actually bought anything.

Sam leaped forward, slapping a hand over Dean's mouth. _Don't!_ he telegraphed with his eyes. _Just don't!_

"We're sorry!" Sam shouted. "We're sorry! It won't happen again!"

There was a hanging moment of silence.

"Well, see that it doesn't," the woman huffed. Her feet disappeared from the gap under the door.

Sam looked up at Dean to see how his brother was reacting, surprised, frankly, that he hadn't already been bitten or at least licked.

Dean watched Sam balefully over a small hand.

Carefully Sam removed his hand meeting his brother's disgruntled eyes.

"Dean..."

"I get it, Sam," he sighed resignedly. "Go grab me another pair."

* * *

That night they went back to the witch's lair.

They'd waited until almost midnight, slipping into the car unseen and driving the three miles to her house. It had taken longer than either of them would have expected just to get the bench seat of the Impala moved close enough for Dean to reach the pedals. Sam had finally climbed into the back to push, braced between the seats, while Dean maneuvered the lever and tugged with all his might. Finally they got it in a workable position.

Sam flopped over into the front seat again. They were both panting slightly.

"Holy crap," Dean fumed as he turned over the ignition.

Sam raised up to get a better view over the dashboard.

Dean snickered. "Maybe we should have brought you a couple of phone books, princess," he said.

Sam just rolled his eyes and flipped him off.

* * *

They found nothing at the house.

Frustrated and exhausted, by the time they finished searching the entire building and its environs, it was close to three. Dean fought back a growing impulse just to sit down somewhere and let someone else deal with this mess. He was tired and confused and sick of feeling like a stranger in his own body – small and weak and emotional and...

Sam stumbled next to him, and Dean grabbed his arm without thinking, about to snap at his brother for his clumsiness when he registered the thinness of the bicep through the layers of shirts and jacket. _Crap._

He sighed. _Suck it up, Winchester, and deal._

Sam righted himself and pushed away. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Maybe Bobby'll have something for us tomorrow," he tried, every bit as discouraged and tired as Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said without much hope.

Sam trudged ahead of him toward the car and Dean stopped, watching him go.

"Sammy, I think we need to leave the car here," he said.

Sam ground to a halt and turned. "What?"

"I think it'll be safer if we leave the Impala here and... walk back." He approached Sam cautiously. He knew just from looking at Sam that this was going to be hard on his brother. Because little girl or not, Sam was wearing an expression Dean recognized.

"Dean..." Sam started. Not a whine really. But a plea definitely.

"Sam, man, I'm sorry. But, dude. There's no way we can explain a trunk full of weapons if we get tagged with the Impala the way we are." Hell, there was no way they could explain a trunk full of weapons when they were themselves. But two young girls on their own in a skeezy motel were liable to draw a kind of attention to the Impala and her contents that two grown men just didn't.

Sam was staring up at him, fists clenched at his side, mouth working and eyes disturbingly bright in the moonlight.

"If the car's not in front of the room I think we've got a better chance of laying low till we can come up with something. Or Bobby can. And if they think no one's in the room people might keep their nose out of our business and leave us alone."

"Or they'll use it as an opportunity to search the room," Sam said tightly.

"Maybe." Dean had to acknowledge that as a possibility. "But if we stay out of sight, there won't be any reason for someone to get suspicious and _want_ to search the room," he said.

Sam's eyes went from the car to the long, dark driveway that lead away from the house and back to the main road. He shivered slightly as he looked to Dean again. Thin shoulders sagged. "Yeah," he sighed. "OK."

They moved the car around to the back of the lot and started toward the motel.

It was a long, wretched walk back, and Dean ended up carrying Sam piggy-back the last half mile. Brushing aside Sam's embarrassed assurances that he was fine, Dean crouched down after the fifth time Sam had stumbled and almost fallen.

"This is stupid," Sam said unhappily even as he climbed onto Dean's back.

Dean shrugged, adjusting Sam's weight so that he had a better grasp on his brother. "It isn't the first time, Sammy," Dean answered tiredly. "And it's just going to take us longer to get there if I have to stop every five minutes and pick you up off the ground."

"Sorry," Sam whispered. He shifted his face to rub it against his brother's back before hooking his chin over Dean's shoulder.

"'s, OK, Sammy." He smiled. "You owe me one, though."

Sam snorted quietly. "When we're big again," he agreed.

"When we're big."

They got back to the motel close to 5, and it took Dean a frustratingly long time to get the key to work in the door. Darkness and his own exhaustion combined to make the simple task seem impossible. Sam had slid down from his ride when they'd gotten to the door, but stood close, leaning sleepily against Dean's back. When the door had finally swung open, they both staggered inside. Dean managed to keep them from ending up on the floor, aiming them toward the near-by bed and using Sam's momentum to get the younger boy onto the mattress. Clumsily, Dean pulled Sam's shoes off and then fumbled his own off as well before trying to wrestle the bedspread and sheets out from under them.

"Maybe we'll be ourselves when we wake up," Sam mumbled exhaustedly into Dean's bicep as they finally got settled in under the covers. Dean rolled onto his side, dislodging Sam, who muttered unhappily before scooting close again and pressing his face into Dean's back. His nose was an oddly comforting pressure point against Dean's spine.

On a sigh, Dean started a weary agreement. "M...," he began to mumble back. But he was asleep before he could finish the thought.

In the morning Dean woke to Sam curled tightly against him, tangle of long dark hair and small body that had still somehow forced Dean to the edge of the bed.

Or maybe not.


	2. Chapter 2

Four days with little to do and no news from Bobby had Dean and Sam climbing the walls and snapping at each other almost incessantly. Sam had spent hours on the internet trying to figure out what had happened without success, and Bobby's terse "hold yer damn horses" emails had been less than encouraging. Dean had hung over Sam's shoulder as he was researching until Sam had reached back, meaning to push Dean away, and accidentally pulled his hair instead. The escalation of hair pulling into nail gouging and screaming had been incredibly disturbing, and they hadn't spoken for almost 12 hours after that, both mortified and terrified it might happen again if they weren't careful.

Dean's peace offering of a late-night trip to the convenience store had resulted in an uneasy truce upon his return with Slim Jims, Cokes and chocolate. They'd eaten themselves into sugar comas and passed out.

They'd managed to avoid any more altercations, but they were still bored out of their skulls and anxious with the waiting.

The knock on the door made Dean's heart start uncomfortably into his throat, eyes darting to Sam who was surfing the internet, "working," while Dean watched TV.

"Bobby?" he mouthed at his brother, who shook his head uneasily.

"I don't see how," Sam whispered back.

Dean slid off the bed, picking up the handgun on the bedside table as he went to the door. He had to give himself a second to adjust to the weight in his smaller hand, but he'd been prepared for that, making a slight change in his grip as he glanced over at Sam. His brother had taken up the knife on the table next to him and moved quickly across the room to the window. Opening the curtains almost imperceptibly to peer through, Sam shook his head at his brother as Dean raised up slightly on tiptoe to squint through the peephole.

"Manager," Dean said softly, brow furrowing uncertainly as he stepped back. _Answer the door or not, that was the question._

The question was answered for him with the sound of a key entering the lock.

"C- Crap!" he stammered hoarsely, startling toward Sam, gun coming up automatically.

"Dean, no!" Sam hissed urgently. "We can't..." He thrust his own weapon quickly out of sight between the mattresses of the bed next to him, but still in reach. "If they find us with a gun..." he went on hurriedly.

"Crap," Dean said again. He tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants, felt the unfamiliar size of it against the small of his back tugging his jeans down in a way it didn't when he was grown. _Damn it._

He'd just bumped into Sam when the door swung open.

The manager hesitated in the doorway, eyes sweeping the room, settling on Dean and Sam to his left.

"What do you want?" Dean decided that the best defense was a good offense. "You can't just come in here. We're paid up. You can't..."

"Are you girls alright?" the man interrupted. His gaze strayed to the closed bathroom door across the room.

That hadn't really been what Dean had expected. "Y- yeah," he answered. He felt Sam shift behind him, moving slightly to the side and forward. Dean glanced over at his brother. "We're fine."

"Where are the men who checked in here?" the manager asked.

"They... they're getting groceries," Dean said.

"The car's been gone for days," the man said.

Dean cleared his throat. He took a breath. "You just haven't seen it. They've been here."

The guy didn't respond for a minute, eyes shifting between the "girls" and the bathroom door. Finally, he asked quietly, "Are they in there?" The hand that had been steady at his hip, reached behind him, and Dean realized he had a gun tucked into the waistband of his own jeans. _Wonderful._

Carefully, Dean shook his head. "No sir," he answered steadily. "There's no one..."

But the manager wasn't listening, checking first behind the door next to him before moving cautiously toward the bathroom. He glanced between the beds as he approached the closed door and pushed it open. When he didn't encounter any resistance, he stepped in quickly, pushing the shower curtain aside. Finding no one, he turned back to Dean and Sam.

"How did you get here?" he demanded softly. "You weren't with those guys when they got here."

"We were," Dean started, "we..."

"You weren't," the manager stated flatly. "I watched them go into their room, and it was just the two of them."

"We..."

"Then the car was gone, and you were here."

Sam was annoyingly quiet beside him, and Dean spared him a look before trying again. Sam didn't even look at him.

"We were with them," Dean insisted again. "And they're coming back. They're just..."

But the guy was shaking his head. "I don't care where they are. And I'm not an idiot. They haven't been back for days, and this is no place for two little girls on their own. I'm calling the police."

* * *

The cops had come and then called in child protective services. Dean stood in the middle of the room, doing the best he could to stare down the social workers and the rookie officer who'd been left behind to keep things running smoothly.

"The manager said it was two men who checked into this room. And that they didn't have any kids with them," one of the social workers said gently. "You said these men didn't take you, that they are your brothers. Have they hurt you?" Her eyes strayed to the fading bruise on Dean's face, slipped down to Sam's, narrowing at the scrape of red along his jaw.

"We told you they didn't hurt us. And they _didn't_ take us," Dean said, trying for calm. "We were just asleep in the back of the car when we got here. That's why the guy didn't see us. We... They let us sleep. We just we came into the room later."

The three government officials exchanged doubtful glances. "These guys were grown men according to Mr. Lee. Much older than the two of you."

"They're our half-brothers," Dean amended smoothly. He shrugged. "Dad. You know."

"Where's your father?"

Dean bit his lip. "He's dead. Our brothers... Our brothers take care of us now."

"Your mom?"

"She died when we were little."

"Where are your brothers now?"

"They went out," Dean said shortly. He hated telling this over and over.

"Mr. Lee said they left a few days ago. That he hasn't seen them or the car."

"They've been here. Mr. Lee..."

"They're coming back," Sam interjected. He'd gone quiet the minute it was clear what kind of trouble they were in, sliding seamlessly into the expected role for a younger sibling when danger threatened, letting his big "sister" take the lead.

Dean was surprised by the feel of Sam's hand gripping the t-shirt at his side, small fingers twisting into the fabric. "They wouldn't leave us," Sam said. "They're coming back." Anxious tone to match the hold he had on his brother.

"I'm sure they will, sweetie," the younger of the social workers soothed. "But until then..." She reached out a hand to put on Sam's arm, and Dean stepped decisively between them. Old habits. Sam in his turn jerked back, moving behind Dean. Habit as strong in him as it was in his brother.

"We can wait for them here," Dean tried, desperation tinting his voice even as he tried to hide it. Panic setting in, this forgotten, but familiar sensation of having lost control making his heart start to trip uncomfortably in his chest.

"H- They're coming back. They wouldn't..." It had been all Dean could do not to say "he." _He's coming back. He wouldn't leave us._ The two times they'd faced this same thing – once when they'd been much younger, once when they'd been about these same ages – slamming back into him, stealing his breath and his focus.

Fear. Anger and helplessness. Shame.

"We can't leave you two by yourselves." The cop said it kindly, but firmly. "I'm sorry, honey. But you can't wait for them here."

* * *

They were processed efficiently and clinically at the emergency children's shelter. The facility was short on beds – of course – and the merest suggestion that they might not be in the same room had caused Sam, calmly and composedly, to begin to leak copious amounts of tears and attach himself to Dean like a leech. Recovering quickly from the start of surprise at Sam's reaction, Dean pulled his brother tightly against him and took a step away, out of reach of the shelter worker who seemed to be in charge of the younger children.

"Please," Dean started, blinking back the sting that had started behind his own eyes. And damned if he wasn't sure whether he was acting or not. God, he hated these freaking body-swap curses when he got left with his own mind, but at the mercy of whatever hormones and emotions were _infecting_ the body he'd been given.

"Dee, please can we call Aunt Jo and Uncle Luke now." Pressed as he was against Dean's chest, Sam turned his face to the side, laying his cheek against Dean's sternum. "Please," he whispered.

Dean blinked. _Wha...?_

"What?" one of the staffers asked. "Who?"

Sam pulled back enough to scrub at his eyes and turn a watery gaze on his victim. "Our Aunt Jo. She said we could live with her after... after Daddy died, but the boys wanted..." he trailed off, wiping his arm across his nose.

Dean watched in a certain amount of awe. Sam was really a pretty pathetic liar when he was expected to work off the cuff. But give him a script. Let him plan... and _damn._ That brain of his had clearly been working overtime while he'd been quiet.

"Sammy," Dean sighed. Reluctance would be expected since they hadn't suggested an alternative to the shelter earlier.

"I know... I know you don't like them, but..." Sam tilted his face up to Dean. "Please. I don't want to... to stay here." He ended on a hiccup.

"Why don't you like them, Dee?" from one of the original social workers. Checking for legitimate reasons why Jo and Luke shouldn't be called.

Dean looked down and away, letting a petulant frown settle over his mouth. "They're too strict. We have to go to church all the time. And the stupid _boys_."

"I like them," Sam sniffed.

Dean frowned at him. "You would," he said disdainfully.

"Boys?" The shelter worker asked, confused.

"Our cousins." He put as much of what he thought of as teenage-girl disgust into his voice as he could manage.

There was a long silence.

"Dee, honey, don't you think it might be better with your family than here? I know they might not be your first choice. But we can't guarantee you girls will stay together if you have to go into foster care. Or even if you just stay here for awhile to wait on your brothers."

Dean scowled at his toes. Shrugged. He slid a glance at Sam, who was biting his lip, watching the adults as Dean played out his own part. "Fine," he mumbled. He paused for a second. "Can I talk to them first?"

"Of course you can," the woman said kindly. "Do you know their number?"

Dean nodded and he was led to the phone in one of the cramped offices. He frowned uncertainly at the phone. He had the damned number programmed into his cell. Fortunately, Sam had refused to be left behind, so he punched the number in when he realized Dean couldn't remember.

"Thanks," Dean sighed when the line began to ring.

There was no privacy, and Dean was thinking frantically as he waited. Jo answered on the third ring.

"Hello?" she answered. Dean swallowed hard.

"Uh, Aunt Jo?" he asked.

She paused. "Tommy?" she asked, uncertain.

"No. No. It's, uh. It's Dee." He couldn't stop the grimace at the stupid name. Silence as she processed that. _Come on, Jo. Come on._

"D- Dean?" she tried tentatively.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Honey, wh- " she started.

"We're kind of in trouble," he rushed in, "could you, could you come get us?"

"Trouble?" she asked, concern in her voice. "What kind of trouble? Are you hurt?"

"No. We're not hurt. We just... the boys didn't come back and..."

"The boys..." she repeated, bewildered.

"Yeah," he said, putting a certain amount of impatience into his voice as he caught Sam's eyes. "They went out for a beer and they never..."

"The boys went out for a beer..." Dean wondered if she was going to repeat everything he said. She trailed off.

"Please, Aunt Jo," Dean tried to prompt her, desperation starting to take hold.

Then, carefully, "You need Uncle Luke and me to come get you?"

Dean didn't let his shoulders sag in relief as much as he wanted to. But he swallowed. Hard. "Yeah," he managed, trying to maintain petulant. "CPS..."

"CPS?" Jo asked sharply. "What? A- Are you kids again?"

Dean looked at the two shelter workers standing nearby, but they didn't seem to have overheard the question.

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "Can you come or what?" he demanded. "They boys'll come back, they just won't let us..."

He wondered if she understood. That he was playing a role, that he wasn't...

"We'll come," she said firmly. "Where are you? Is there anyone I need to talk to?"

Without replying Dean handed the phone to the woman next to him.

"Mrs. Winchester? Oh. Of course. Mrs. Sweed..."

Dean listened closely as the woman talked, telling Jo the situation her "nieces" were in and giving directions for where they could be picked up the next day.

"Your aunt would like to talk to you again."

Dean took the phone. "Yeah?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

"You're girls?" Jo finally managed, voice strained.

"Yeah," Dean said, narrowing his eyes.

"How old?" She sounded suspiciously like she was trying not to laugh.

Dean slanted a glance at the shelter staff and then at Sam.

"They said a 15-year-old couldn't take care of a 10-year-old all by him- _her_ self," he bit out.

"Fifteen?" A wavering tone quickly suppressed. "And ten?" The warble started to break free.

"Jo," Dean said warningly, "don't..."

But it was too late, and a gale of giggles carried clearly over the phone.

On a growl, Dean slammed the receiver down. He glared at Sam. "They'll be here tomorrow," he snarled.


	3. Chapter 3

The woman sighed. "I guess one night won't matter," she said.

Sam had steadfastly refused to loosen his grip on Dean until the shelter workers had agreed to let them stay together. Not that Dean had had any intention of allowing them to be separated, but it was a relief that he hadn't had to be the one to pitch the fit. Sam had managed that one just fine on his own.

Sam's insistence that he wouldn't sleep without Dean even for one night, that they could share a bed even if it was a twin, that they'd done it _lots_ of times had been met with a firm "no" at the beginning of the discussion. Twenty minutes later, red-faced and weeping, Sam had emerged the winner. The poor woman really hadn't stood a chance.

Sam heaved a shuddering breath at the capitulation. "Really?" he hitched, face splotchy and tear-stained. He wiped a snotty nose across Dean's chest, and Dean fought back the urge to smack him. The kid was provoking him deliberately.

"Yeah, really," the woman said.

Sam opened a sweaty fist to let go of Dean's shirt. The fabric stayed bunched in place until Dean tugged it smooth. Smoother.

"'K," Sam sniffed. "Thank you," he said, wiping his hands down his cheeks. "'m sorry," he added, blinking contrite eyes at the poor woman, leaking more damn tears as he did so.

_Good lord._

"It's OK, sweetheart," the staffer reassured him. "I know this is really scary."

Sam nodded his agreement with that statement, wiping at more tears. When she left to make the appropriate arrangements, he turned to his brother with a triumphant grin.

Dean shook his head. "Nice," he acknowledged dryly. "But you're so doing the laundry next time. I've got mucus all over me, you brat."

Sam shrugged and dropped onto the worn loveseat against the wall of the office. When Dean sat down beside him, Sam shifted, leaning against Dean with a self-satisfied sigh.

"When d'you think Luke and Jo will get here?" he asked blearily. Crying always took it out of him.

"I don't know," Dean answered with a sigh of his own, slouching down to rest his head against the back of the couch. He was so tired.

"You think they'll leave tonight?" Sam yawned.

Dean shrugged. "Probably. It's an eight or nine hour drive, I guess," he estimated.

Sam was quiet for a minute. "Are y'mad?" he ventured hesitantly.

Dean tilted his head slightly to look down at his brother. "No," he said in surprise. "Why would I be?"

"Cuz I got Jo and Luke involved?" Sam offered, even as he settled closer.

Dean shrugged, resigned. "Nah. I mean. I'd rather we deal with it on our own. But. I guess we probably needed the help." He paused. "You know how bad it's going to be, though, right? We are never going to hear the end of this."

* * *

They ended up in what looked like a converted storeroom with one single bed and a set of bunks. The bunk beds were occupied by a couple of girls close to Dean's age. They gave the Winchesters wary looks as the shelter worker led them in.

"You can put your duffels under the bed for the night," the woman directed. "There's a bathroom down the hall. Why don't you girls get ready for bed? I'll get your sheets on."

Dean rooted through their bags and pulled out toothbrushes and toothpaste while Sam grabbed night clothes for both of them. Dean gave the two girls stare for stare as he propelled Sam out of the room in front of him. As soon as they were out of the room, they could hear the questions start up behind them.

Teeth brushed and clothes changed, Dean and Sam eased back toward their room. They caught a snippet of conversation as they approached.

"It's one night, Keisha," the staffer said tiredly. "They've got family coming to get them in the morning, OK?' Amy, get away from their stuff. I'm trusting you girls not to give them any trouble, you hear?"

Dean stepped into the room, Sam on his heels

"There you are. Everything OK?" At their nods, she continued, "Well, we've got this all set for you. Oh, and by the way, that's Keisha in the top bunk and Amy in the bottom."

Dean and Sam raised hands in a half-hearted greeting. They got the same in return.

"So. It's past lights-out and you girls have had a tough day, I know." She turned on an old lamp at the head of the bed and then switched off the overhead light as she reached the door. "Breakfast is at 7 o'clock. We'll make sure you're all up."

Dean shuffled Sam over to the bed, and they both sat down. The woman ran her eyes once more over the room and its occupants. "Well. Goodnight, girls."

The best she got were grunts in reply, but she didn't seem to notice.

Silence fell.

Heaving out an exhausted breath, Dean turned to Sam. "OK, climb in."

It had been a long time since they'd shared a bed that small, and even with the change in their sizes it took a fair amount of shifting and shoving and whispering for them to get settled.

Finally, Dean switched off the lamp and on his back, bent an arm up over his head to get a hand under his head. His other arm rested awkwardly across his stomach. He was only barely fully on the bed. Sam had his back against the wall and his face practically in his brother's arm pit.

"You smell different," Sam said muzzily, sounding a little confused.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sam responded.

"No. What?"

Sam's head moved restlessly. "You just don't smell like you."

Dean scowled. "What does that even mean?" he hissed.

"I dunno," Sam started. "You just smell different...," he broke off, then strangled, "like green meadows and ..."

Dean removed his hand out from under his head and slapped down hard at Sam.

"Ow," Sam complained, voice rising in indignation. "I was just..."

"Shut up," Dean commanded. "Go to sleep."

With a huff, Sam turned his back to Dean and, stiffening his arms and legs, gradually increased the pressure along Dean's side, setting him tottering on the edge of the bed.

"Cut it out," Dean gritted, trying to regain his balance.

"Why don't both of you shut the fuckup?"

Neither of the Winchesters responded immediately, but Sam relaxed his posture enough for Dean to scoot more firmly onto the mattress.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled apologetically. Though not to Dean.

Dean opened his mouth for a different type of retort, but shut it when Sam reached over and poked him in the ribs. He sighed and silence fell again.

In the dark, Dean listened first to Sam's and then the girls' breathing even out into sleep. As tired as he was, he never could sleep in situations like these, too aware, too afraid, to let his guard down enough. Instead he lay on his back, exhausted but still fighting off sleep, staring at the ceiling, getting used to the noises, the creaks and snuffles of strangers asleep around him. Sam changed position awkwardly, lying partway on Dean's arm. Dean juggled it experimentally to see if he could shift his brother, but Sam didn't move, heavy and limp in his sleep.

Grimacing slightly to himself, Dean moved his trapped arm as much as he could, hoping to maintain some level of circulation, but without hope of actually dislodging Sam.

Dean lay there for a long time, sleepy and bored, eyes moving aimlessly around the dimly lit room. Even with the lights off, the room wasn't completely dark, light from the hall leaking under the door, casting shadows in the gray. Dean brought his free arm up to put across his eyes. Remembering Sam's comment, he smelled the skin in the crook of his elbow.

_Huh._

He moved his head slightly and hesitantly sniffed at his pit. After a second, he looked toward Sam. Leaning over he put his nose against his brother's hair. Sniffed cautiously again.

_Huh._

* * *

Luke thought he knew what to expect. I mean, they're girls, he'd said to Jo. Unexpectedness of _that_ aside, how weird can it be?

Very, it turned out.

Because, as prepared as you thought you were for the sight of two young girls, two young girls in the place of two grown men was a lot more disturbing than Luke had thought it would be.

Because, they were both still so _clearly_ Dean and Sam.

He and Jo had been led along a brightly lit, institutionally painted hallway to the "rec room," where many of the children were gathered after breakfast, playing games or watching TV. When they'd entered the room a startling number of eyes had turned their way—hopeful, angry, lost—but only two pair had lingered. But even if the interest in those two sets of eyes hadn't identified the girls as Dean and Sam, Luke would have recognized the Winchesters among the crowd.

It was creepy as hell.

Sam jumped out of the stuffed, oversized chair they'd been sharing, actually running across the room toward them, moving easily into Jo's open arms.

"S- Sam," Jo stuttered, bending slightly to brush her lips over the top of his head, dazed eyes meeting Luke's. "Sammy," she whispered as she crouched down to really look at him, blinking as she touched his face and skimmed her hand down his long hair. "Oh, my," she breathed.

"Hey," Sam said, voice light as a girl's, different from the one he'd had even as a little boy at their place. "Thank you for coming," he said. "I'm sorry. _We're_ sorry..."

Luke tore his eyes off Sam to look at Dean, still standing by the chair, stiff and embarrassed and not moving ...

Luke went slowly across the room.

"Hey," Dean said, shoulders hunched forward, hands in his pockets, clenched Luke would bet, in frustration.

"Hey," Luke returned. Whatever impulse he'd had about teasing the boy when they got there, was gone for the moment. "We're glad you called."

Dean laughed a little bitterly. "Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah," Luke said. "Always. You know that."

Dean deflated somewhat at that and took a small step toward Luke.

"You OK?" Luke asked, taking his own half-step forward to meet him. He put a hand under Dean's chin and tilted his face up slightly. Damn, he was a pretty little girl – vivid eyes and long lashes, cupid's bow for a mouth _._ Luke looked pointedly at the bruise on Dean's cheek.

Dean's hand came up, slender-fingered and delicate, to brush at the injury. "Yeah," he answered. "That was before."

Swallowing, Luke nodded and dropped his hand. "Let's get y'all home, then." He put a hand on Dean's shoulder, meaning just to pull the boy forward, get him moving toward Jo. But he was unable to stop himself from putting the arm all the way around Dean's shoulders as the kid got closer, tugging him into a side-embrace. Was surprised to feel Dean relax into it, turning to lean into Luke.

"Thanks for coming," Dean said softly.

"No problem," Luke reassured him again, tightening his hold slightly. "I'll say this for you two." Luke looked down at the top of Dean's head. "You sure keep our lives from ever being boring."

* * *

It had been easier than Jo would have expected to get the Winchesters sprung from the shelter—contact information given and papers signed—and they were out the door.

"Where's the Impala?" Luke asked as they got situated in the Suburban.

"'bout three miles north of town," Dean said. "We left it at the house where the witch that did this to us lived."

Luke nodded. "We need to get anything from the motel?"

The boys exchanged glances.

"What?" Luke asked.

Sam grimaced slightly. "We hid a knife and a gun under one of the mattresses when the manager found us," he admitted. "I'm guessing the owner hasn't found them or they'd've asked us about it."

Luke nodded, considering. "OK."

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam. "OK?" he questioned.

"We'll swing by there before we go for the car," Luke said.

"Luke," Dean started.

"Don't sweat it."

When they got to the motel, Luke ordered them all to stay in the car and climbed out.

"What's he doing?" Sam asked worriedly. He sat forward to lean over the bench seat.

Jo squinted out after her husband. "I'm not sure."

"He doesn't think he's just gonna ask the manager for the weapons we left does he?" Dean asked incredulously. He'd also gotten unbuckled and scooted up next to Sam.

Jo frowned at him. "I'm guessing _not_ , Dean," she said, voice sharp with annoyance and a certain amount of worry. "He's not an idiot."

Dean subsided, chastened by her tone. He sat back to watch out the window.

When Luke came out of the office, he was chatting easily with the manager, Mr. Lee. Luke clapped the man on the shoulder and pointed at the Suburban before heading down the sidewalk toward the room they'd been in. Mr. Lee came toward the car, smiling.

Jo rolled down the window as the man approached. He held out his hand, and Jo shook it.

"I'm glad to hear the girls had family to come get them," he said sincerely. "I'm Martin Lee."

"Jo Sweed," she smiled. "We're so grateful that you stepped in," she said. "Their brothers mean well, but..."

"Well, I really hated to stick my nose in, but it made me uneasy to see the two of them on their own like that."

"Most people wouldn't have cared enough to bother, so thank you."

Jo saw Luke exit the room empty handed and start toward them. In the rearview mirror she noticed that the boys had seen him as well.

Realizing that the attention in the car was directed elsewhere, Mr. Lee turned to look at Luke.

"Couldn't find it?" he called.

Luke was shaking his head as he approached. "Nope." Luke leaned into the car. "Sammy, are you sure you left that skirt here?"

Sam's mouth opened and closed. "Uh, yeah?" he offered. "I think," he amended.

"Well," Luke said. "I couldn't find it and housecleaning didn't turn it up," he looked at the manager for confirmation and Mr. Lee shook his head.

"Maybe it was the last place we were," Sam said hesitantly and Luke sighed.

Luke shook his head as if in exasperation at the manager, who smiled in understanding. "We'll keep an eye out for it," the man offered.

"Thanks," Luke said. "It's pink with daisies and a little ruffle along the hem," Luke said earnestly. He looked innocently at Sam. "Right, sweet pea?"

The muscle along Sam's jaw jumped. He cleared his throat. "Right," he gritted.

Unable to resist getting in on the action, Dean leaned forward across Sam. "It's her favorite," he told the manager. "So..." He couldn't finish the thought because Sam had caught the skin at his waist and was twisting viciously. Dean jerked back abruptly, stifling a yelp.

They finally said their good-byes and got on the road.

"Could you really not find them?" Dean asked, rubbing at his bruised flesh, grinning unrepentantly at Sam.

Sam ignored him.

Luke sat forward and pulled a gun from the back of his jeans. Reaching down he pulled a knife out of his boot. Waggling his eyebrows at Dean in the rearview mirror, he slanted a grin at his wife and kept on driving.

* * *

"Who has the keys?" Luke asked when they got the Impala uncovered and were ready to go.

"I do," Dean said. "And I'm driving."

"No," Luke said. "You're not."

Jo was in the driver's seat of the Suburban with Sam in the front passenger seat, feet swinging out the door as he watched.

"Luke."

"Dean. You're 15 years old. You're not driving the car home."

"OK. Number one. I'm not 15 years old," he asserted firmly. "And number two, even if I was, I could have a learner's permit." The assertiveness was draining out of his tone, replaced with an unmistakably whining quality. "And you'll be in the car, so I don't see why..."

"Do you have a learner's permit on you?" Luke interrupted dryly.

Dean mouth closed on an unhappy scowl.

"Do you have any sort of driver's license that doesn't identify you as a grown man?"

Dean's deepening frown was the only answer.

Luke held out his hand.

On a growl, Dean fished the keys out of his pocket and made as if he was going to slam the set into Luke's open palm.

"Careful."

Luke's drawled warning was one Dean had heard before and knew better than to ignore. He slowed the arc of his arm before he dropped the keys into Luke's hand. Stalking around the hood of the car, Dean threw himself into the passenger seat of the Impala. The crash of the door punctuated his displeasure like a gigantic exclamation point.

Jo bit back a smile as she turned the key in the ignition of the Suburban, meeting Luke's eyes through the window of the door he was closing on Sam. "Have fun," she said.

Sam snorted.

Luke sighed. "Yeah."

"He hasn't slept much the last few days," Sam said, buckling his seat belt. "He'll be out within five minutes. I bet you." He was smiling as his eyes came to Luke's from where they'd been resting on the top of his brother's head through the rear window of the Impala. Dean had slunk down so low in the seat he was barely visible.

Luke raised a hopeful eyebrow at Sam and patted the door of the Suburban before he headed to the Impala. He slid behind the wheel of the car, taking his time adjusting the seat and rearview mirror.

Dean's angry silence thrummed through the interior of the car.

Luke looked over at his passenger. "Buckle your seatbelt."

Dean didn't reply or make eye contact, but he uncrossed his arms long enough to obey. The arms locked back over Dean's chest immediately, slouch and out-thrust lower lip all affronted teenage dignity.

Luke resisted the urge to tell Dean how cute he looked when he was pouting. Only just.

But years of practice with sullen kids was going to stand him in good stead, and Luke blithely ignored both the quiet and the sulky teenager next to him. He turned on the radio and found a station he liked, slapping at the hand that shot out from his right to turn it off. With a _watch it_ glower at Dean, who glared and retreated, Luke put the car in gear and followed the Suburban down the overgrown track leading back to the main road.

Dean leaned against the door, face resolutely turned away from the man driving his car. On an unhappy sigh, he settled into the seat and closed his eyes.

When they got to the highway, Luke's glance flicked to Dean as they bumped up onto the paved road.

Sam had won his bet. With a couple of minutes to spare.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time they stopped for a late lunch, Jo was fairly convinced her ears were bleeding. Because if 24-year-old Sam was considered the talkative one of the Winchester boys, the 10-year-old-girl version of Sam put his older, male-self to absolute shame.

At first, Jo had listened, transfixed—initially not only by the story leading up to the Winchesters' transformation, but by the little "girl" who told it, all wide eyes and giggles as Sam described Dean's reactions and his own. Jo had laughed and watched in wonder as Sam had talked, still himself, but undeniably feminine, too, voice and expressions subtly changed.

By the end of the first hour, Jo began to feel like she was reeling from the sheer _volume_ of information that poured out of Sam's mouth.

"Jess used to paint her toenails all the time," he said thoughtfully, small, bare feet propped up on the dashboard in front of him, impossibly tiny toes wiggling. He looked over at Jo, who was trying to process the contrast between Sam's usually enormous, hairy-toed feet and the little ones currently settled on the glove compartment. "D'you think it would be weird for me to paint mine?"

Jo shook herself and opened her mouth to respond, but Sam didn't pause to listen.

"Prob'ly, huh? Dean would never let me hear the end of it even though he let Macy paint his _purple_ that time, 'member? He always says things are different when _he_ does something, like..."

After awhile, purely in self-defense, Jo tuned him out, nodding and mm-hmming occasionally into any random pause.

When the phone rang, Sam got to it before she could.

"Hi, Luke! Didja see that old pick-up that went by like a mile ago? That was cool, huh? Is Dean awake? Did he fall asleep as soon as I ...? Oh! Sure." He held the phone out to Jo. "Luke wants to talk to you."

Jo took the phone from Sam, who smiled sunnily at her before turning his gaze out the window. "Look! There's another windmill. Do you...?"

"Hello?" Jo clutched the phone to her ear. _Blessed relief_.

"Y'all about ready to stop for lunch?"

"Yes," she blurted.

"Any preferences? There was a sign for a Dairy Queen just a little while ago."

Jo heard something mumbled in the background on the other end of the call.

"Deciding about lunch," Luke answered, talking to Dean. "You hungry?" He laughed at whatever Dean said. "We've got a starved kid in this car, so..."

"DQ sounds great to me."

"Dairy Queen! I love Dairy Queen! Can I get a dipped cone, Jo? Are we having lunch? I'm starved. Can we...?"

"Sam!" Jo's voice came out a lot sharper and louder than she'd meant for it to.

"Yeah?" Unfazed.

She took a breath. "We're going to stop. Can you just give me a second to talk to Luke?"

"OK," he said agreeably, looking back out the window again.

"We're up for lunch," she said, hoping she didn't sound as desperate as she felt. "As soon as possible."

"Great. Looks like this exit. You see it?"

Jo looked down the highway. "Yep."

"See you in a minute."

They hung up.

Sam took a breath and opened his mouth.

Jo held up a hand. "Sam?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Honey, I've got kind of a headache. Could we, maybe, just be quiet for a little while?" Jo felt bad, but she put a hint of pathos in her voice as she asked.

Sam frowned at her slightly in concern. "Are you OK?"

Guiltily, Jo smiled at him. "Yeah, baby, I'm fine. I'm sure some lunch will perk me right up."

Sam smiled back at her. "OK," he agreed.

When they pulled into the parking lot, Sam was out of the Suburban the minute they'd come to a complete stop.

"Dean!" he called, almost skipping across the parking lot toward the Impala. "Hey!"

Jo followed at a much slower pace, and dazed as she felt, she still couldn't help the smile at the sight of the two "girls" together. Sam was already mid-sentence, and Dean was squinting down at him as he exited the car, expression attentive, if slightly befuddled from his nap. He was nodding at whatever Sam was telling him, putting out a hand to move his younger sibling to the side so he could get the car door closed behind him.

Jo walked straight into Luke's arms.

"Hey," he laughed.

"He talked non-stop," Jo said into his chest. "Non. Stop. Luke. For the last three and a half hours." She tilted her head to the side. "Do I still have my ears? I'm afraid he's talked them off."

Luke examined the side of her head seriously. Kissed her earlobe. "Still there," he informed her.

She sighed. "I will never tease Tommy about being chatty again. Ever."

Luke turned her toward the restaurant, draping an arm over her shoulders. "Come on, Josie. I know what'll make you feel better."

When they entered, Dean and Sam were already standing in front of the counter, peering up at the menu. They all ordered and found a booth, Jo sending both kids to the bathroom to wash their hands.

Sam was giggling when they returned, sliding onto the wooden bench ahead of his brother. "Dean went into the men's room," he chortled. "And there was a guy in there."

Dean didn't respond beyond rolling his eyes and scooting in beside Sam.

Thrilled to have a new audience, Sam began his recap of the trip this far. Luke, ever patient, nodded and asked questions. Jo fought the urge to put her hands over her ears.

"I'll get it," Dean said when their number was called, rising to slouch toward the counter. Luke joined him, and they returned with trays piled high with plastic baskets filled with hamburgers and fries. Luke set down a tray of Cokes and began to distribute them.

"We can get ice cream when we're done, right Luke?" Sam checked again. Just to make sure that Luke hadn't forgotten, up on his knees, reaching across Dean for his food.

"Sure, kiddo," Luke answered easily, catching a Coke before Sam toppled it.

"Good, cuz..."

"Dude, are you saying every single thing that that goes through your head?" Dean interrupted Sam caustically.

Sam's mouth snapped shut. He sat back on his heels. Blinked. "No," he answered slowly.

Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

And Sam smiled suddenly somewhat sheepish. "Mostly. Sorry." He adjusted himself on the bench, sitting down fully as he turned his attention to his food.

Dean shook his head. "He used to do that all the time when he was little," he told the Sweeds over Sam's muttered _shut up_. "Especially when Dad would get back from being gone. Before..." Dean trailed off, eyes cutting over to Sam. Jo sensed what had been left unsaid. _...before Sam knew why_ _Dad was gone. When he was just happy that Dad was home._

Sam swallowed and looked away.

Jo cleared her throat around the sudden ache. "No harm done, sweetie," she said.

Sam nodded, but he kept his gaze out the window to the side as he ate his fries.

When Jo glanced at Dean she saw regret etched on his face. He bit his lip. "Hey," he said, nudging Sam with his elbow. "You want my onion rings?"

Sam turned slowly. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dean said, pushing them along the table. "I'm full."

"Really?" Sam asked again. He looked at Dean curiously even as he pulled the basket closer.

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, patting his stomach. "Gotta watch my girlish figure," he said primly, and grinned when Sam laughed, stuffing an enormous ring in his mouth.

* * *

Sam was significantly quieter when they restarted their journey home, slumped, subdued in the passenger seat.

The second time he drew in a breath to say something and then released it without continuing, Jo reached out a hand to smooth through his hair.

"What, sweetie?" she asked. "Tell me."

Sam looked at her somberly for a minute and then asked seriously, "Do you think it's really true that when cows are lying down in the field it means it's going to rain?"

Jo pressed her lips together, nodding her head as she tried to give the question the consideration Sam seemed to think it needed. "I don't know," she finally admitted.

"Dad said he didn't know either," Sam told her. "Dean thought..." And he was off again.

Any slight annoyance Jo had felt with the chatter beside her that morning had ended with the realization that Sam's talkativeness was an indication of his relief at having been found, of his feeling safe again. So when he occasionally petered out self-consciously, Jo gave him a minute and then asked a question or pointed out something of interest along the side of the road.

Distracting Sam and engaging him ended up being its own reward, and if over the course of the afternoon Jo lost her heart completely to the bright-eyed little girl-child beside her, it was something Sam probably never needed to know.

* * *

Multiple coffee and bathroom breaks aside, they made pretty good time, arriving home close to 8.

Dean climbed warily out of the Impala, eyes on the house, watching for tormentors in the forms of Jake and Tommy. They had a temporary reprieve from Michael's input as Jo had insisted he stay at school until the weekend no matter how much he wanted to come home immediately for the show.

When no one appeared, Luke strode up the stairs of the porch and banged the front door open.

"Boys!" he barked into the house. "Come out here and help with the bags!"

Dean was still standing by the car, biting at his lower lip when Sam joined him. He looked down at his brother, and Sam met his gaze uneasily, shoulder bumping Dean's arm.

"How bad do you think it's going to be?" Sam whispered.

Dean let out a heavy breath. "Bad," he guessed. "Come on." He turned Sam toward the trunk, meeting Luke as the older man popped the lid.

Luke reached in and pulled their duffels out, dropping them on the ground by one of the rear tires. When Dean made to grab the bags, Luke shook his head at him. "Let the boys do that," he said with a small smile.

"Hey."

Dean turned toward the greeting, feeling Sam do the same next to him.

"Hey," he returned, tensed for _something_.

"Hey," said Sam, the happiness in his voice turning Dean toward him, then following his brother's gaze to the dog that was making its way quickly down the steps. Dean felt his own start of pleasure at the sight. "Hey," he echoed Sam's greeting to D-dog.

The dog approached them with his typical friendliness, but without any particular recognition, moving straight to Sam, who had crouched down to the animal's level. Dean hunkered down, too, extending his hand for the dog to sniff.

D-dog licked Dean's offering happily, tail moving quickly back and forth, turning his head to lick Sam's cheek, snuffling at his neck when Sam didn't rebuff him. Sam laughed, cooing as he scratched the dog's ears. Dean laughed, too, tickling at the base of D-dog's spine.

Gradually, the nature of the dog's greeting changed, becoming more frantic, his whole body beginning to move in ecstatic time with his rapidly whipping tail. He started to whine enthusiastically, pressing himself insistently into Sam, head darting over to lick Dean, whining changing to excited barks and more fervent movement until he'd knocked both Winchesters over, bounding almost hysterically from one to the other, high-pitched yips nearly deafening the entire family.

Jo and Luke were laughing out loud. "I guess he recognizes you," Jo said over the noise.

"Yeah," laughed Dean from where he was sitting in the dirt, angling his face away from D-dog's wet tongue. "I guess so." He scrubbed his finger tips through the dog's rough coat. "Didja miss us, mutt? Huh?"

Sam had scrambled back to his feet and was patting at his chest. "Come on boy." D-dog bounced away from Dean and threw himself at Sam, making the smaller-version stagger back even as Sam wrapped his arms around the dog.

Wiping his face, and struggling up, Dean glanced toward the porch. Though they were smiling, Jake and Tommy seemed to be rooted to their spot at the head of the stairs, mouths slightly open as they stared.

"Jake, come get the girls' bags." Turning from the spectacle of Sam and D-dog, Luke addressed his nephews. If Dean had been close enough, he'd've hit Luke for the "girls" comment, thinking that the man had just opened a can of worms Dean would have preferred stayed closed. But Jake's only reaction was to shut his mouth abruptly and move to obey. "Tommy," Luke went on. "Get Mom's stuff." Tommy's response mirrored his brother's, and he gave the Winchesters a wide, slightly nervous berth as he went by.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, who was now covered with slobber and dust and just as confused as Dean by the lack of reaction from the boys. They both looked at Luke, who lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug.

"It's really a lot more disconcerting than you might think," he told them ruefully.

"Jake, put those in boys' room, OK?" Jo added her instructions to Luke's after kissing both of her nephews "hello." "Is everyone hungry?" she went on. "I could use a snack." She bent down to give D-dog a welcoming pat as well.

There was general agreement on this, so they reconvened in the kitchen, Jo and Luke setting their boys to getting out plates and silverware while Sam and Dean dropped into their usual spots at the table. D-dog dropped to his haunches next to Sam, resting his chin on a skinny thigh. Jo pulled out sandwich-fixings, and soon they were all occupied with eating.

As they ate, Dean and Sam filled in the gaps of the story they'd already partially told Luke and Jo. Tommy and Jake were disturbingly quiet, not asking a single question, but constantly watching Sam and Dean, eyes slipping away when their attention was noticed.

Finally fed up with the attempts at covert observation, Dean reached out and shoved roughly at Jake's shoulder. "Cut it out," he snapped.

Jake blinked. "What?" But he blushed.

"Stop lookin' at me, man."

If Jake's gaze dropped from Dean's, Tommy's was now openly curious as he stared.

"You're girls," he said.

"Y'think?" Dean asked, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm out of his voice even for Tommy at this point.

Tommy cocked his head to one side, considering. When he opened his mouth, Dean was suddenly terrified of what the kid was going to ask.

"Well!" Apparently Jo shared Dean's fear. "Dean and Sam have had a busy couple of days, and I'm sure they must be exhausted." She said it brightly into the silence Tommy had been about to fill. "Why don't you gir- _boys_ go get ready for bed? We'll clean up in here."

Any other time Dean might have been insulted about essentially being sent to bed before nine, but at the moment it seemed like a blessing from above. Not only because it allowed them to avoid awkward questions, but because he was beyond worn out.

"Yeah," Dean said, nudging Sam out of his chair. "That sounds good."

Sam stumbled to his feet obediently, yawning broadly as he stood. "'K," he agreed, trailing after Dean. "Come on, D-dog," he added, patting at his leg. The dog was already moving.

At the door way, Dean stopped and turned. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "For everything."

Jo smiled and crossed to them. She pulled Dean into a hug, and Dean relaxed into it unselfconsciously, sighing at the kiss she brushed along his cheek, relishing without realizing it the warmth – both physical and emotional – of the embrace. "You're welcome, baby," she said.

When Dean moved away, Sam stepped forward for his turn, sleepily demanding his own hug. Dean felt a funny tripping of his heart at Jo's expression when she held Sam, smiling and murmuring something into his hair. She pulled back, laughing softly when she tucked some of Sam's hair behind his ear as he turned his face up toward her. "Night, sweetheart," she said giving him kiss.

'Night," Sam sighed. "I get first shower," he told Dean and headed toward the bathroom.

"Yeah," Dean acknowledged meeting Jo's eyes. "Good night," he said.

"Good night."

* * *

When Dean and Sam walked into the kitchen for breakfast the following morning, Luke looked up from his paper and blinked.

"Dean," he ordered blandly, "go get dressed."

Dean frowned. The boxers and tank t-shirt he had on were no different than what he always wore. Than what everyone else sitting around the table was wearing.

"Dean's got boobies," Tommy noted. Not without interest.

Dean turned on his heel and left the room.

Luke transferred his gaze from Dean's retreating back to his youngest nephew, noticing in passing the blush on Jake's face even focused as it currently was on the bowl in front of him.

"But Sam doesn't," Tommy went on, having transferred his gaze to Sam's chest.

Flushed now himself, Sam skittered out after his brother.

"Tommy," Luke said.

"What?" Tommy asked, eyes round with innocence.

Luke raised an eyebrow at the boy, not fooled. "Two things," he said dryly. "Number one. It's not polite to stare at woman's chest. And number two," he said, raising his voice to be heard over Tommy's protest that Dean and Sam weren't women, "it's particularly not polite to _comment_ on a woman's figure. Even if usually that woman – or girl – is a boy."

Tommy dropped his gaze from Luke's stern stare, and Luke allowed himself a brief, amused shake of his head.

"Do you hear me, Tommy?" Luke asked.

"Yes, sir," Tommy said, but there was a sly glint in his eyes when they slid over to Jake, who was still studying his cereal. "Jake thinks Dean's pretty."

Without conscience he ratted out his older brother.

"I do _not_!" Jake gasped hotly. Like a snake, his arm shot out and punched his traitor brother – hard – in the arm.

Tommy yelped. "You do, too!" he insisted, swinging back, but missing. "You told me last night you thought he was kind of cute!"

Luke had never seen that particular color on his middle nephew's face. And given the level of betrayal Jake had just experienced, Luke didn't have it in him to stop the poor kid when Jake stood up and punched his little brother again.

"OW!" Tommy fell out of his chair trying to get away. "Luke!" he cried. "Make him..."

"Make him what, kiddo?" Luke asked calmly.

Pouting at the lack of sympathy in Luke's tone, Tommy scrambled away, clutching his smarting arm.

Sensing an ally, but torn between following up on retribution for Tommy and explaining himself to Luke, Jake wavered uncertainly. Pursue his brother into the corner where the younger boy had retreated or tell Luke what had happened?

Ultimately he turned to Luke. "I didn't mean anything! I just... I... He..."

"Dean makes for an awful pretty girl," Luke acknowledged matter-of-factly, trying to let Jake off the hook. "But you remember that he's Dean inside, OK?" Jake's color had started to fade, but he flushed again at this, head dropping. "And I'm telling _both_ of you right now, that if you tease him about this or make him uncomfortable with who he is at the moment, you're going to get it back in spades when he's himself again."

Luke pinned Tommy with a stare. "You got me?" Making sure the boy knew he'd be on his own.

Tommy bit his lip, considering Dean's ire when all this was over. "Yes, sir," he said.

"OK," Luke said and let it drop.

When Dean and Sam entered the kitchen again, both were fully dressed. Dean took the opportunity to cuff Tommy on the back of the head as he went past, and beyond a grimace and hunched shoulders the boy didn't complain. Sam added his own swipe to his brother's as he followed along behind. Not prepared for the second blow, Tommy yelped, startled, but still he didn't protest.

Luke nodded to himself in approval.

The Winchesters got themselves bowls and settling in with their cereal, started to eat. Jake didn't say anything beyond an initial greeting and after a little time had passed, the boy slipped silently out of the kitchen.

Thoughtfully, Luke watched him go.

"Hey, buddy."

After he'd made sure that Tommy wasn't likely to put himself in further danger by poking at the Winchesters some more, Luke wandered out of the house in search of Jake. He found him out in the barn, rubbing down Dolly. The filly stood calmly under the boy's touch, turning her head to Luke when he stepped up on the stall.

"Hey," Luke greeted him

Jake didn't turn from his task.

Allowing for the space, Luke didn't say anything else, just turned his attention to mucking out James's stall. They worked in companionable silence.

"I don't _like_ Dean."

Jake's voice had just a slight note of uncertainty in it.

"I know," Luke acknowledged, putting the certainty into his own voice that Jake's had been lacking. He forked fresh straw into James's box. He turned to look at Jake, who had finished with Dolly and was now watching Luke unhappily.

"But you're attracted to him as a girl," Luke said evenly.

The blush reappeared on Jake's face, and Luke wondered vaguely if it would fade completely before Dean was returned to his true self. The sheen of embarrassed tears in the boy's eyes was new, though.

"Honey." Luke said gently. He paused, started again, ""Jake, it doesn't surprise me that you're feeling, well, thrown by Dean the way he is right now, OK?"

Jake wasn't meeting his eyes, focused intently on the ground at his feet, shoulders bowed.

"The reality is you _do_ like Dean. You love him; you love him as a friend and a brother. And to have him show up here like he is now, as, let's be honest, a pretty beautiful girl your own age, is... confusing. I get that." He closed the distance between them carefully and reached out to squeeze Jake's shoulder. He gave the boy a little shake while he was at it. "But inside he's the same person he's always been."

Jake's shoulders hunched down another impossible inch. And that was the real issue, wasn't it? Wanting—being attracted to—a girl who was really a man. And not just any man, but one Jake adored. Hormones were tricky things at the best of times. Add being a 16-year-old boy and hero-worship and gender changes into the mix and you had a recipe for weirdness that Luke wasn't sure how to handle.

Reminding Jake that Dean was really a boy clearly wasn't the way to go.

_ OK. _

Luke tried another tack. "What if Michael or Tommy were suddenly pretty girls? Would you feel attracted to them?"

The horrified expression on Jake's face was answer enough.

"Right?" Luke said. "You love Dean the way you love your brothers. Any time you feel... attracted... to Dean, imagine one of your brothers." Luke faltered. _Uh, that didn't come out quite ..._

But Jake's face was already starting to clear somewhat. He continued to frown, but it was thoughtful. "Because that would be _really_ gross," he said with repulsed conviction.

"Agreed," Luke said.

"Dean is my brother," Jake said slowly. "My brother," he said again. And Luke saw the recognition and acceptance of that truth on Jake's face, an easing of the tension along the boy's shoulders.

Luke smiled. "Right."

Jake let out an unsteady breath, relieved, back on ground he recognized. "OK," he said carefully. And smiled, a slight flush of self-consciousness coloring his cheeks. "Thanks."

Luke nodded. Couldn't stop himself. "I think it's kind of cute you had a crush on Dean," he teased

The groan and rolled eyes that accompanied the kid's muttered "shut up," were exactly what Luke had hoped for.


	5. Chapter 5

When Jo came into the kitchen after a couple of hours at the diner, she found most of the family still lounging around the table. She looked at her watch, surprised that the Winchesters were up at this hour.

"Where are...?"

The back door banged open, and Jake and Luke entered.

"School," Luke said to Tommy. "Let's go."

Jake grabbed his backpack while Tommy shoved the last of his breakfast into his mouth.

Luke picked up Tommy's books, starting for the door. "I'm leaving in two minutes. Be in the car or walk," he said without looking at either of his passengers and kissing his wife goodbye.

"Wait," Tommy said in a partially strangled voice around a mouthful of toast. "My lunch..."

"Lunches," Jo said, opening the refrigerator door and passing them into grabbing hands. Luke was out-of-sight, clumping noisily toward the front of the house, Jake right behind him.

"Wait!" Tommy almost wailed, dropping his bowl into the sink with a clatter and yanking the brown bag out of Jo's hand. "Luke!" He dashed after his uncle.

Jo shook her head. "I'm not sure why he thinks Luke will actually leave him," she wondered. "He never has."

She turned her attention to the two kids left at the table.

"How'd y'all sleep?"

"Good," they both said, settling in. They each had coffee mugs in their hands, and Jo sniffed disapprovingly at them as they drank. She poured herself a cup.

They were dressed, but rumpled, Dean's hair lying flat across his head. While Sam's...

Sam's hair rarely behaved, constantly longer than it probably should be, waving and flipping in ways that often seemed to defy gravity. But now, down past his shoulders, and evidently slept on wet, it stuck out in strange cowlicks and interesting patterns.

Jo picked up the brush she kept in the kitchen, fingered the rubber bands wrapped around its handle. She eyed Sam speculatively.

"Honey," she said, approaching him from behind. She smoothed down his hair, and Sam's hand came up self-consciously, following hers.

"I know," he admitted. "It's a mess. I can't..."

While he still couldn't see her, she stroked the brush through the bird's nest. He jumped. "Jo," he said uncertainly.

"I'm just going to brush it," she lied, using her free hand to keep his head from twisting out of her reach. "Be still."

He obeyed, but reluctantly. His shoulders hitched up almost to his ears, and she could hear the muttered warnings to his brother, who was grinning delightedly.

Jo raised an eyebrow at Dean. "Don't think you're not next," she told him. The smile fell off his face.

Jo worked patiently, gently and rhythmically moving the brush through Sam's hair, carding her fingers through to work out tangles. Slowly, Sam relaxed, shoulders finally slumping back down, his head beginning to move languidly in motion with the brush as she pulled it through his hair. When she looked down, she noticed that his eyes had slipped shut.

Carefully, she put the brush on the table and used her fingers to part his hair down the middle from front to back. When he didn't remark on that, Jo ever-so gently divided the hair on the left side of his head into three parts. She glanced over at Dean, who was watching her in fascination, eyes going from Sam's face to hers and back again. She shook her head at him, hoping he wouldn't give her away. The slight smirk on his face widened.

Sam sighed when she cautiously started to braid. "What are you doing?" he asked, kind of blearily, curious, but not opening his eyes.

"Nothin'," she lied again. "Just getting it out of your face." She finished one side, wrapping a rubber band around the end. Quickly she started on the right side. Sam shifted in his seat.

"Wait. What...," his hand came up to feel his hair and he sat up, startled, when he came in contact with the braid.

Dean busted out laughing.

"Jo!" Sam gasped, horrified. He went to undo her handiwork, and Jo wrapped his knuckles sharply with the brush she'd picked up to smooth out the hair on the right side.

"Don't," she said. "It looks..." _cute_ was what she wanted to say, but knew better than to actually voice that particular thought. "... practical," was what she said instead. Even if it didn't really make much sense.

Sam shook out his stinging hand. "You braided my hair!" he said indignantly, moving to rise, but dropping his butt back into the chair when Jo tugged on the handful of hair she was holding, anchoring him in his seat.

"Yes, I did," Jo said calmly. "Be still," she instructed again. Was surprised when Sam obeyed, though huffily.

Sam subsided, grumbling audibly as she finished, glaring at Dean who was almost rolling, he was giggling so hard.

"There," she said, slapping at his hands again when they came back up to his hair. "Go look at it and, putting aside your prejudice against having your hair braided, tell me if it isn't neat and out of your face." _And adorable_ , she thought, but again didn't say.

Sam stomped out of the room.

Jo picked up her brush.

Dean toppled out of his chair in his haste to remove himself from her reach.

"Huh-uh," he said, backing into the refrigerator. "No way."

"Sit," she commanded, brush pointed at him.

"Jo," he whined.

"Now."

He shuffled back to the table and sat.

"It's not long enough to braid," she had to concede. "But it can definitely be neatened up." She made a point of running the brush through his hair until Sam came back into the room; stopped after Sam had gotten the chance to laugh at Dean the way his brother had laughed at him. With a smothered smile, she put the brush away.

"Well?" she asked Sam.

He sighed, tugging gently at the tip of one braid that skimmed just past his shoulder. "Yeah," he admitted.

Dean didn't tease, too intent on ruffling his own hair surreptitiously and tucking it behind his ears.

Jo ran her eyes over them. "I guess you're both presentable," she said. "Come help me clean rooms?" she asked, moving toward the door, needing to get on with her day.

With good-natured sighs, they followed her out.

* * *

Jo stopped on the threshold into the family room and froze at the scene in front of her.

Michael had gotten home late in the afternoon on Friday and had proceeded, with help and encouragement from Jake, to tease Dean (and Sam to a lesser extent) unmercifully. The Winchesters had handled it pretty well, giving back as good as they got until Jo hadn't been able to take it anymore and sent everyone to their separate corners for the rest of the evening. The ribbing had started again this morning at breakfast, and if it didn't end with _someone_ – possibly her – in tears at some point over the weekend, Jo was going to be really surprised.

And this looked like it might be that point.

Michael and Jake had Dean pinned, the older boy sitting on Dean's legs while the younger held Dean's shoulders and wrists immobile over his head. Tommy and Sam were watching, huge grins on their faces as Dean struggled and wheezed with laughter.

"Stop," he gasped, rolling ineffectually as he tried to escape. "Stop!" He couldn't catch his breath.

Uncertain, Jo took a step further into the room. She'd _hated_ being held down and tickled when she'd been a girl and had suffered it more times that she thought reasonable from her brother, and, frankly, both her husbands, when they'd all been young.

But the truth was that her own boys often seemed to revel in the physical contact with each other. And as protective as she was with Tommy in these sorts of situations, she had to acknowledge that more times than not, her youngest was the one who initiated the tickle fights, taunting his brothers, goading them and poking until they responded. When Dean had been here before as a teen, the same sorts of wrestling matches had not been uncommon.

"Stop," Dean tried again.

"Stop what, Dee?" Michael teased, moving his fingers up Dean's ribs. "This?"

Dean finally managed a whoop of breath and... well, shrieked, "Stop!"

There was responsive laughter from the gathered audience.

"Or this?" Michael asked, digging into Dean's stomach.

Annoyed now, and more than a little fed up with the male of the species, Jo moved forward.

As she did, Jo watched Dean's t-shirt, which had gone askew in the struggle, hike further up Dean's torso. And hands that had rested partially on fabric and partially on bare skin as they tickled suddenly slid completely up under Dean's shirt.

Whatever his hand came in contact with made Michael jump back like he'd been burned.

Dean took swift advantage not only of Michael's surprise, but Jake's at his brother's flinch, bucking and twisting violently out from under both boys and scrambling to his feet.

Michael struggled up quickly, eyes wide. "Dude, I..."

Before Jo could open her mouth to intervene – how, she wasn't sure – Dean's foot shot out and caught Michael squarely in the crotch. Without missing a beat, Dean pivoted and landed a solid punch to Jake's nose. Almost simultaneous squawks accompanied her nephews' descents to the floor.

Bending over to catch his breath, Dean panted for a couple of seconds into the stunned silence. Finally he straightened and with cold glares at both boys, said icily, "No means no, dudes."

He cut a quick glance at Jo, who could only look back at him carefully, and then walked out of the room.

Jo released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

Into the frozen silence, Jo said, "Tommy, stay away from Dean until I tell you otherwise, you understand me?"

The boy nodded, eyes like saucers.

"Sam." When Sam turned to look at her, humor gone from his face, Jo faltered, "Honey, whatever you think, OK?"

Sam's eyes returned to the door his brother had just gone through. "Yeah," he said. "OK." Frowning thoughtfully, he turned to Tommy. "Let's go see if Marge'll make him a milkshake."

Tommy nodded eagerly at this plan. He looked hopefully at his aunt. "And us?"

Distractedly, she nodded. "Sure." She looked at her older nephews who were still on the ground, clutching their wounds. "I'll deal with these two."

Sam and Tommy cringed sympathetically at her tone, but were smart enough to scamper out of range lest their own lesser complicity suddenly be remembered.

Without saying another word, Jo headed to the kitchen. She grabbed a towel for Jake and ice packs for both boys. When she got back to the den, Jake had levered himself onto the sofa. Michael was beginning to untuck from the fetal position.

She handed Jake the cloth and a baggie full of ice. With a sniffle and tears leaking from his eyes, he applied both to his nose.

"I guess you know where to put this," she said dryly to Michael, dropping the ice onto his lap. "When you've collected yourselves I want to see you both in the kitchen."

* * *

It was almost 20 minutes before the boys appeared. A couple of times Jo considered yelling for them to get in there or hustle up. At one point she wondered if they were actually going to ignore her and not show up at all. But ultimately she decided that time to think for them and time to cool off for her was probably a good thing, so she busied herself cleaning up while she waited. She was putting the last of the dishes into the dishwasher when they finally slunk in. Michael was in the lead as they entered, Jake hunched behind him, barely visible at his brother's back.

"Before you say anything, Mom, we know we're idiots," Michael started before Jo could even open her mouth.

"Really?" she asked coldly.

"Yeah, Mom," Jake ventured. "We're sorry."

"Why are you idiots?" she said, wanting them to say it out loud.

The boys met each other's eyes as they sank into chairs at the table.

"Because we knew Dean didn't want us to tickle him, and we did it anyway," Jake whispered.

"Because we're bigger than he is, and we took advantage of that," Michael added quietly.

_ Huh. _

"OK," she said. "Those are good answers." Slowly she crossed to the table and sat down with them. "But why would you do that?" she asked. "Has he done that to you, and I've missed it?"

She knew her tone was giving away her dismay, but she just wasn't sure what to do with this weight of... disappointment... that they would hold down someone smaller and weaker than themselves, that they would continue when they'd been asked to stop...

"No, Aunt Jo, no," they both jumped in at the same time. "Dean's never... neither of them have ever..."

Jo shook her head, not understanding. "Then wh-..."

"We don't _know_." The boys exchanged glances, but Michael was the one to speak for them. "It was just... funny. That we could actually get him pinned, and then he was laughing and Tommy and Sammy were laughing and he couldn't get away, and it..." Michael shrugged. "I just... we just... forgot that he's not himself. I guess, that he really _couldn't_ get away with both of us..." He trailed off.

Jo sighed, studying the tops of the two bowed heads across from her. "Do you know what it's like to be held down and really not be able to get away? To want someone to stop and not be able to make them?"

They shook their heads.

"It's a pretty rotten feeling, even when you know the person restraining you isn't going to hurt you. It's a sense of helplessness that can be kind of scary even if the person who's doing it thinks he's playing. And sometimes it really doesn't feel like play to the one being held down."

They nodded their heads, almost in unison, and she smiled wryly.

"And I think that helplessness and lack of control is probably doubly hard for Dean right now, don't you?"

Hunched shoulders in addition to the nodding.

"OK," she said. "Go find Dean and apologize."

They stood. "We're sorry," said Jake.

"I know you are, baby. Go tell Dean."

* * *

They found Dean on the front porch sucking down a milkshake on the swing with Tommy and Sam sitting on the rail across from him.

Michael stopped and leaned against one of the porch supports. He felt Jake beside him. He looked at Dean, who stared back stonily, just the barest hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

Michael licked his lips. "So. Are you really going to be a girl about this?"

There was a moment of startled stillness, and then Dean barked out a remarkably unladylike laugh. "Screw you, man," he said.

Michael grinned, then sobered. He looked down at his feet and then back up at Dean. "Seriously, dude. We're sorry," he said sincerely.

Dean blew out an exasperated-sounding breath. "Yeah, whatever," he huffed. He held out his milkshake to Jake.

"Really?' Jake asked, reaching for it.

"Yeah, really," Dean said.

Jake took a long pull from the straw and returned it while Michael snagged Tommy's. With a put-upon scowl, Tommy gave his up.

"Cool."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight homophobic language, attempted rape/non-con.
> 
> Beware before reading this chapter.

For dinner that night, Jo decided Dean's favorite barbeque was in order. Grady's was a "joint " of the best sort – ten miles further out of town, sagging structure, pool tables, ancient jukebox, owners that catered to both family and less reputable crowds. And a secret recipe for brisket and ribs that melted in your mouth.

Dean and Sam rode with Michael when he went to pick up their order while Jo put protesting Jake and Tommy to work on homework for the following week.

"I'll be in the back," Dean said as Michael approached the counter with Sam. There was no one in the dining area of the restaurant, and Dean thought maybe he could entertain himself on the pool tables while they waited.

The jukebox was blaring, turned up for the employees as they got ready for the evening.

"Sure," Michael agreed, lifting his hand to a couple of girls behind the bar.

Sam climbed up on one of the barstools and set it spinning, braids flying.

"Hey, sweetheart," said Selma Grady, widow of the original owner. The two girls moved out from behind the counter to give Michael a hug. "Your mama called in the order, but we're still working on it." She smiled indulgently at Sam. "Now who is this pretty little thing?"

Michael hitched up on the stool next to Sam, grinning and twirling around himself.

Dean made his way to the rear of the building, missing out on Michael's explanation of who exactly Sam was.

The back room was dim, the restaurant not yet officially open, but there was enough light for Dean to grab a cue on his way to one of the pool tables that was illuminated by a single overhead fixture. In the corner, he noticed a group of three guys gathered around one of the small non-pool tables. He nodded an absent acknowledgement at them, setting his cue across the table as he grabbed the triangle and started to collect balls from the pockets.

He'd made a few shots, just playing to amuse himself, when he became aware of the interest of the three men across the room. The hustler in him smiled in satisfaction, but he didn't let the expression reach his face, ignoring their attention and continuing to move around the table.

"Not too bad." One of the guys had approached the table. The "for a girl" was implied, condescending and said with a look that made Dean's skin crawl, raising his hackles at the same time.

Dean shrugged. "Thanks," he said. He was tempted to play these morons. Not for money. Just for the satisfaction of taking this jerk down a peg.

"You from around here?" Jackass number one was leaning against the table, putting himself in a position that blocked Dean from taking his next shot. His buddies stood behind Dean, hemming him in.

Dean gave the speaker a level look, not responding until the man moved.

"Not really," Dean said, taking his shot and walking around the table so that no one was at his back.

All three were young guys, Michael's age maybe, Dean could see now. Unshaven and sloppy looking, they wore expressions Dean recognized from dozens of other pool halls around the country—cocky and mean, assessing. He'd had that look focused on him more than a few times. But where there'd been caution to go along with that particular feral gleam before, here there was an eagerness that had him adjusting his grip on the cue in his hand. His eyes darted to the door.

"I saw him come in with McCrae and another kid," said Jackass number two, now easing around the table in attempt to cut off Dean's retreat.

"McCrae?" said the first guy, closing in from the other side. "You his girlfriend?" he sneered. "I'da thought you were into chicks," he added with a contemptuous chin jerk at Dean's jeans and flannel.

Dean couldn't help himself. "I am," he smirked.

There was a chorus of snorts and the men exchanged glances. "Figures that goody-goody wouldn't know a lesbo when he hooked up with one," leered Jackass Number One. "Maybe you just need a real man to show you how it should be done."

"Yeah," Dean said dryly, keeping a wary eye on the distance between the two of them. "That's exactly what I need." If this cretin thought he was going to...

Evidently, he did. And he took a step closer, grabbing for Dean at the same time.

Dean swung the pool cue with all his strength, catching the guy on the bicep with stinging slap. But not with the force he was used to exerting in these types of situations, and not at the height he'd meant it to make contact.

_Oh, shit._

The move had caught the man unprepared, but he recovered quickly, arm twisting sharply around to grasp the pool cue and yank Dean forward with it. Dean ducked out of reach and spun around, about to drop to the floor and make his escape under the pool table, hemmed in as he was by the other two men.

But he wasn't fast enough and he was grabbed by the hair, jerked up and into the arms of Jackass number three.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," said the first jackass, rubbing at his smarting shoulder. He aimed a slap at Dean, catching him hard across the face.

Dean's head recoiled with the blow, but he was already raising his legs off the ground and striking out with both feet at his attacker. The guy holding him staggered back in surprise when he suddenly got Dean's full weight, lessening the impact of Dean's sneakered feet on the other man's crotch.

"Son of a bitch!" the guy said again and this time the open-handed slap became a closed-fist punch, connecting solidly with Dean's cheekbone. Dean saw stars and realizing that things were headed south quickly, opened his mouth to yell for help.

But the shout was cut off before it got started, a hand clamping hard over his mouth, positioned slightly under his chin so that a bite to the palm wasn't possible.

 _Crappity, crap, crap_ , Dean thought in a daze, a terror he hardly recognized stealing over him and numbing him from his toes up when the first guy stepped forward into Dean's space, the scent of sweat and beer and _meanness_ speeding Dean's heartbeat up so fast and hard he thought it might be making his skin pulse.

"You think you're pretty tough, huh, little girl?" A hand reached out, touching him and Dean cringed away in spite of himself, but there was nowhere to go. It took him a second to realize that the muffled whimper of fear had actually come from him. He shook his head in denial.

"Why don't we take this somewhere else?" He paused, eyes skimming over Dean. "A little more private?"

The fear that had frozen him before ratcheted up to the next level, and he started to struggle frantically, kicking wildly and twisting himself like a corkscrew in the arm that tightened like a steel band around his waist. The hand over his mouth tightened, too, fingers digging into his cheeks as he tried to get loose, jaw working to find the freedom needed to bite.

"Whoa!" The voice behind him was surprised and amused. The hold on him didn't budge. "She's a fighter." The mouth moved closer, brushed against his ear. "I like that."

Dean gave a strangled sob, adrenaline coursing through his body as sheer terror took him beyond reason, fight now completely uncoordinated and frantic.

"Let's go. Out the back."

They started to move and the shift in position turned Dean toward the door that led toward the front into the restaurant. Where Sam was just crossing the threshold.

In the initial moment their eyes met, Sam's face was open and young, lips parted slightly to call for his brother, smile lighting his expression as he came into the room.

In the time it took to blink, Dean saw the shift from child to man, pure rage slamming the shutters over Sam's eyes, fixing _hunter_ over his expression like the little girl had never been there.

"Take your hands off my brother," he said coldly.

* * *

Sam spun around on the stool again, enjoying the dizzy lurch when he set it in motion, the unfamiliar slap of his braided hair on his cheeks when he stopped. He put his hands on the bar top, about to do it another time.

"Dude." Michael's hand came down on his shoulder. "You're making me car sick," he said.

Sam grinned and Michael reached out to tug gently on his braid.

"Can you sit still for just a second?" he asked teasingly.

Sam shrugged his agreement, but continued to swivel the barstool back and forth even if he didn't make a full circle on it. He looked around the dining room, watched Michael's friends wipe down tables and set out napkin-rolled place settings on the red-checked plastic table coverings. The girls were pretty in the way small town kids often were, fresh-faced and comfortable with each other. They talked easily back and forth, calling questions and comments to Michael as they worked. Michael slouched back on his stool facing the room, elbows on the bar behind him, occasionally pointing out things they'd missed, grinning when they rolled their eyes at him or hassled him for not helping.

Sam slid off his seat and wandered over to the jukebox, wincing slightly at the volume when he got close, perusing the choices and absently pushing the buttons.

"Hey, Michael?"

Michael glanced his way.

"Can I have a quarter?" He looked at the price. "Or four?"

Michael sighed and dug into his pocket, fishing out the correct change. He held his hand out to Sam. "Dude, come get it if you want it," he said.

Sam skipped over to Michael, settling into a walk with a frown when Michael raised an eyebrow at him and snorted a laugh.

"Shut up," Sam muttered, snatching the money out of Michael's hand. He set a measured pace back to the jukebox.

Sam bit his lip as he considered his options, unsure whether to choose something that Dean would like or something that would drive him crazy. The eternal question.

Finally, he settled on something Dean would like, punching in the number for "Back in Black."

Michael groaned when the song started up. "Seriously?"

"Dean likes it," Sam said. He turned to the door his brother had disappeared through earlier, hoping Dean would come back to check on what was going in.

"Well, he's not going to be able to enjoy the whole thing," Michael said. He was pulling bags off the counter, loading himself down with their dinner. "Go get him, OK?"

"'K," Sam said agreeably, trotting off to obey. He just kept himself from skipping. _And what was up with that?_

The short corridor between the two rooms was dark, and Sam wasn't thinking much of anything when he entered into the dim light of the pool room except maybe _I'm gonna call shotgun_ for the ride home and _I hope Jo's making cobbler_.

So when he was confronted with three large men, one of whom was holding his frantically struggling brother-sister, Sam just froze. Until Dean's terrified eyes met his.

In that split second, Sam went from happy-go-lucky 10-year-old girl-boy to full-grown hunter faced with a threat to his family. And whether "family" in that moment meant big brother or, frankly, little sister, Sam wasn't quite sure.

But he let the cold rage of _don't you touch him_, do what it always did for him, centering and focusing his attention on the job at hand.

"Take your hands off my brother."

The looks on the faces of Dean's captors would have been comical if not for the desperate expression on his brother's face. And if they'd managed to take Dean, Sam knew that there was no way he could take on these men on his own.

So he opened his mouth and _screamed_.

"Shit! Shut him up!"

But even as the man startled forward, Sam heard the sound of running feet behind him and Michael's urgent call, "Sammy? What's...?"

The one who had been holding Dean actually put him down, uncertain what to do in the face of the interruption, one hand tangled in Dean's hair with a fierce grip, the other across his chest, holding him firmly.

Michael burst into the room, the two young waitresses on his heels. His eyes were on Sam at first, but then followed Sam's gaze quickly to the men approaching them. Instinctively, he moved Sam behind him, stepping up to meet the threat. But also still not exactly sure what was going on.

"What...?" Michael looked back quickly at Sam, then at the man who had slid to a stop a few feet away.

"It's none of your business, McCrae," the biggest guy bit out contemptuously.

Michael's eyes narrowed at the man who had spoken. "Jeff," he said evenly, and Sam could hear an unfamiliar wariness in Michael's voice, realized Michael knew these men. Michael's attention moved beyond Jeff to the man behind him when Dean moved sharply.

"Dean?" Michael asked uncertainly. "Wh- ?"

"'Dean'?" Jeff snorted. He looked at his compatriots. "Are you sure your girlfriend's not really a guy, McCrae? You even know the difference?"

"Let her go." Michael, Sam thought, had finally cottoned on to what was actually happening. And the tone of his voice was one Sam had never heard before from the easy-going young man. "Now," he snarled.

The one who held Dean tightened his hold, jerking Dean's hair painfully, eliciting a bitten off cry. Sam couldn't help the movement in response, and Michael tensed as well, thrusting out a hand to stop Sam, pushing back firmly when Sam still tried to surge forward.

Sam was vaguely aware of one of the girls behind him running back toward the front of the restaurant.

Michael took a step, not letting his eyes move off the one who was clearly the leader of this little band of potential rapists.

"Or what, _Mikey_ ," sneered Jeff.

"Let her go," Michael said, more calmly now. His eyes marked where the third guy was, and Sam noted along with Michael that the man seemed less interested in whatever had been going on, easing slowly toward the back exit as Michael advanced carefully.

Sam trailed in Michael's wake, managing to keep out of sight behind Michael's larger frame while everyone was focused on the older boy. Gingerly, Sam slid a cue out of a rack, managing to free it without making enough noise to draw attention to himself.

"You gonna make us?" the guy asked stupidly.

"Are you a complete idiot?" Michael wondered contemptuously. "Do you really think you're going to take her out of here? With all of us standing here watching you do it?" He shook his head. "I mean. We all knew you were as dumb as a box of rocks when we were growing up. But seriously. I had absolutely no idea how _stupid_ you really were until this moment."

On a growl Jeff lurched toward Michael, who stepped straight into him, right fist hitting him squarely in the gut, left following up with a slanting drive into his cheekbone, sending him sprawling to the floor. Sam brought the pool cue down on the man's head as he fell, knocking him unconscious.

The guy holding Dean startled at the unexpected attack, and Dean twisted free, using an elbow to incapacitate him with a blow to the groin.

The third guy hit the back door and was gone.

Behind them, there was the unmistakable sound of a shotgun shell being chambered.

"That's enough."

Michael reached out, catching Dean's arm as he skittered out of reach of the men who had been tormenting him, and pulled him close and behind. Sam got the same treatment when he moved closer to Michael and his brother.

"Debbie's called the sheriff, Steve," Selma said blandly, aiming at the one man who was still conscious to hear her, distracted as he was by the pain in his nether regions, "and I would imagine that Luke Sweed's gonna want to have a conversation with the two of you boys—and Carl Lucas—about all this."

From where he stood behind Michael, Sam could feel the tremors running through Dean, felt them from where he was pressed up against his brother, could feel them in the fingers that had twisted themselves in Sam's shirt.

Sam reached out and took hold of the hem of Dean's t-shirt, knuckles brushing skin at the small of his brother's back, didn't look, didn't speak.

When Michael turned around his full focus was on Dean.

"Are you OK?" he asked breathlessly, scared now in a way he hadn't been just moments before. "Dean, are you OK?" Michael had one hand on Dean's arm, the other coming up to touch Dean's cheek, thumb brushing over the bruise that was rising there.

Dean nodded tightly, not letting go of Sam and surprisingly, not protesting when Michael drew him into a fierce embrace.

"Holy crap," Michael breathed unsteadily. He gave Sam a wide-eyed look. And pulled him in, too.

* * *

Luke spent about fifteen minutes with Dean when he arrived, trying to remember to be a soothing presence as he listened to what Dean had to say. Trying to tamp down a rage that was threatening to consume him in its intensity.

"Luke, I'm OK, really."

But Luke could see the shadow of fear in Dean's eyes even as the kid tried desperately to downplay what had happened. And Luke knew that this was about Dean not wanting to appear vulnerable, pushing back at others feeling the need to protect him.

Luke looked at him steadily. "I know you are, Dean," he responded, not even trying to get Dean to admit that he'd been shaken, if not seriously injured. "But this about more than whether you were hurt or not. This isn't some bar fight that got out of hand. This is three guys beating a girl and planning on kidnapping her. This is about an attempted rape." Luke was careful not to say _an attempt to rape you._ Careful to give Dean the distance he needed and wanted. _._

Dean flushed and looked down, muscle along his jaw vibrating.

"And if we don't do something about what they did, another girl is going to be in danger. Do you understand that?" _It isn't about you, Dean, it's about someone else. You're not weak. Others are weak._

Dean looked at him, wavering. "Yeah," he whispered.

Luke couldn't resist reaching out, smoothing his hand through Dean's hair. Waited to be rebuffed. Wasn't. Repeated the motion.

Dean closed his eyes and blew out a shuddering breath.

"It's going to be OK, kiddo," Luke said softly, taking advantage of Dean's apparent willingness to be comforted and tugging him into an embrace.

Dean didn't resist. "I hate this so much, Luke," he said wearily. "I hate it."

"I know you do, baby," Luke said softly, not even thinking. He huffed out a laugh when Dean drew away to give him a jaundiced glare. "Sorry." Deliberately, he ruffled Dean's hair and snorted when Dean finally did jerk away. "It's so easy to forget," he grinned.

"Michael." Luke shifted his attention to his nephew. "Y'all head on home. I'll be there shortly."

* * *

It was late when Luke got home. The house was dark except for the light in the kitchen and the glow of the television

Dean was lying in a corner of the sofa, legs drawn up, head on the arm of the couch. Luke sat down at his feet. Put a hand on the kid's hip.

"Can't sleep?" Luke glanced at the television as Dean reached for the remote. "Leave it," Luke smiled. "This is one of my favorites." _Philadelphia Story_ if Luke knew his Katharine Hepburn movies. And he did.

Drowsily Dean levered himself up to a sitting position. "You get 'em?"

"Yeah," Luke said, lifting his arm to settle it around Dean's shoulders, and the kid unselfconsciously slumped into Luke's side. "Carl Lucas's daddy marched him into the station a few hours ago. He told us where to find Steve and Jeff."

Dean angled his head up to look into Luke's face.

"Carl's never been the sharpest tool in the shed," Luke told him. "And the boy's always been too easily led. But his old man's smart enough to know this was serious shit and make sure his boy stayed on the edge of it."

"What did they say?" Dean asked, lowering his eyes, fixing his attention on the television. Cary Grant was ringing the candles in celebration of John Howard's retreat from the field of battle over Miss Hepburn. Dean rested his cheek against Luke's chest.

"That they were just kidding. That you and Michael couldn't take a joke." Luke sighed. He got so tired of that kind of bull. This was the first he knew of these boys getting this out of control—and according to Carl that was the truth. Luke wondered, though, if other girls would come forward when word got out. He could only pray they'd yanked these boys in time.

"They're enjoying the accommodations overnight," Luke went on. "Their parents will be in tomorrow, and we'll see how things go from there."

All three men were over 18 – had graduated with Michael from high school – so they could be kept overnight without parental notification. But in his years sheriffing Luke had found that a little parental involvement could significantly affect the way these matters went. Most times for the good, though admittedly sometimes for the bad.

Dean nodded against Luke's ribs, soft hair lifting slightly with the movement to tickle Luke's chin.

Luke closed his eyes at the sudden ache in his throat, the bitter-sweetness of this feeling catching him off-guard. He missed his little girl. Missed the smell of her and the soft weight of her in his arms.

Jo called Tommy her cuddler and there was no question the kid was a snuggler, but even so he was all sharp elbows and near-constant movement and the musky scent of little boy. Nothing like his Jenny, who'd loved to sit close, watching football or telling him her day, stillness and strength beside him, quick smiles just for him and strawberry shampoo.

She'd been married almost eight years and had children of her own. But there were times he wished back those moments—not just the time with her, but being the one she turned to first for protection and comfort. He knew that wasn't his job anymore. But it didn't mean he didn't miss it sometimes.

Dean shifted, breaking Luke's train of thought.

"You OK, baby?" he asked. Winced at the nickname, anticipating a glare. Or an uppercut.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. And didn't protest the endearment. "I like that Dinah," Dean mumbled sleepily, settling against him. Luke's eyes went to the screen where little Virginia Weidler was crowing happily, "I did it! I did it all!"

"Yeah," Luke agreed quietly, hand coming up to smooth over Dean's head, a careful kiss against soft hair. "Me, too."


	7. Chapter 7

Sam woke in the middle of the night to find Dean's bed empty next to his. It was rumpled, but in an unslept-in kind of way, and Sam threw the covers off, unable to ignore the uncalled-for and totally paranoid twinge of panic in his gut that his brother wasn't where he should be.

The bathroom was dark, so Sam continued on to the family room. Dean was on the couch, a quilt pulled up over him. Sam bit his lip, then went back to their room. He pulled his own pillow and Dean's off the beds, snagging a corner of the quilt on his bed as he headed toward the den.

"Dean," Sam said softly, "here's your pillow." He pushed it a little into Dean's face, and with a muffled grumble, Dean took it, shoving it under his head. He never opened his eyes.

Satisfied, Sam sat in the recliner, wrestling the chair into a supine position. Pounding his own pillow into submission, he drew his quilt up to his chin and fell asleep.

When he woke again, it was to the sounds of Dean rising from the couch. Sam kept his eyes mostly closed, watching Dean get up gingerly, grimacing in annoyance as he stretched out bruised muscles. His brother turned to look at him, and Sam squinched his eyes closed quickly. Dean huffed out an amused breath of air.

"Dude."

Caught, Sam peered at his brother. "How are you feeling?" Dean had just touched the split on his lower lip gingerly, the tip of his tongue slipping out to run over it experimentally. Sam never liked seeing his brother hurt, but he was surprised at the level of empathetic pain he felt at the sight of these injuries on this female version of his brother. In fact, Sam was having a hard time squelching a completely unwelcome desire to burst into tears and hug Dean. Sam blinked desperately. That was so not going to happen.

Fortunately, Dean didn't seem to have noticed, already turning away, shrugging and wrapping the quilt around himself. And not answering the question. "I smell coffee."

Even when they were both themselves, Sam knew better than to pursue that line of questioning when Dean wasn't in the mood. He suspected that the addition of tears and the arms Sam wanted to throw around his brother would not improve the situation. So Sam just said, "Yeah," as steadily as he could, climbing awkwardly out the recliner. "I gotta..." he jerked his head toward the bathroom, ducking his head when Dean looked at him again.

Dean nodded. "'K."

Sam let himself break down in the bathroom, not sure what else to do with all the fear and anger and relief that was coursing through him. So he sat on the edge of the bathtub and sobbed in great noisy gulps until he eventually stopped. When he'd cried himself out, completely spent, Sam splashed water over his face and looked disgustedly in the mirror at his tear-stained, distraught reflection. _Crap._ Even his 26-year-old male self wanted to pick up his 11-year-old female self and cuddle her until it was all better.

He shook himself and glared at the little girl in the mirror. _Suck it up, dude_ , he commanded. _You're a grown man and a Winchester Repress._ Sam took a couple of steadying breaths and, straightening his shoulders, left the bathroom.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Sam stopped in doorway, startled, when he saw Jo with her arms around Dean. Sam shifted back uncertainly, thinking maybe he shouldn't be there, but not wanting to leave either. Jo's almost imperceptible shake of her head was all the encouragement Sam needed to stay. When her eyes narrowed at him suddenly in concern, Sam shook his own head at her, giving her a rueful smile. _I'm fine_ , he mouthed.

With a slight frown at Sam, Jo pulled away from Dean, who straightened, though he didn't move out of the circle of her arms. She brought her hand up to touch his cheek.

"I think the ice helped a lot," she said. "It doesn't look too bad." She combed her fingers through his hair. "How's it feel?"

Sam watched Dean's shoulders move in a shrug and could imagine his brother scrunching up the left side of his face experimentally. "'s OK, I guess." Dean put his head back on Jo's shoulder, unbruised cheek moving restlessly against the fabric of her blouse until he found a comfortable spot.

Jo met Sam's eyes again as she cupped her hand around the nape of Dean's neck and they stood for a little while longer. Sam felt like something of a voyeur watching this moment between Dean and Jo, knew that Dean would not want Sam to see him this vulnerable. But Sam was helpless to turn away.

"What are you making?" Dean finally mumbled sleepily.

"Thinking about French toast," she answered.

Dean sighed and raised his head. "'K."

Sam cleared his throat as he started forward. Dean turned in Jo's embrace, but didn't seem unduly disturbed that Sam was there to witness the hug.

Dean's eyes sharpened when he noticed Sam's mottled face, then softened in recognition. "French toast," Dean told Sam, not commenting otherwise.

"Score," agreed Sam, throat tightening at his brother's lack of additional reaction. And Sam wasn't sure whether it was an appreciation for not being sneered at or teased for his "overly emotional" tendencies. Or actually a missing of the expected response he would have gotten from his brother in normal circumstances. Because while Dean might not have verbally commented on a tear-stained Sam, he would have managed to comment in other ways, especially if he knew that Sam was concerned about him.

"Hey, baby," Jo said to Sam, giving him a questioning smile. She clearly wasn't sure he was really OK, but trying to respect his attempt to wave her off a couple of minutes before. She pressed a kiss to Dean's cheek before she went back to breakfast. "Y'all want coffee?" She moved toward the coffee maker as Dean shuffled to the table.

"Me, too?" Sam asked in surprise. Jo was adamant that "children" Sam's age did not drink coffee. They drank milk. Or juice. Or water. She would not be swayed.

"Today," she limited the offer.

"Yes, please." Sam would take what he could get.

At "fifteen" Dean was allowed a little more discretion with his coffee intake. "Yeah," he yawned, sitting. "Please."

"Where's D-Dog?" Usually the dog was in the kitchen with Jo whenever she cooked.

"I put him out since you two were asleep in the den. I didn't want him to wake y'all up." She put mugs in front of both of them.

"Can I let him in?" Sam loved being around the dog again. He got up to grab the half and half out of the fridge. He set it on the table next to his mug.

"Sure. You want to feed him while you're at it?" Jo cracked eggs into a bowl.

Sam did, opening the door for the dog and tussling with him briefly before putting the animal's breakfast in its place on the floor. He went back to sit next to his brother while the dog happily wolfed his way through a bowl of food seasoned with bacon drippings from the day before.

Dean had never been a morning person, but there was a depth to his silence today that was more than just taking time to wake up. Sam studied Dean as his brother drank his coffee absently, eyes distant as he stared into space. Sam could see different thoughts and emotions flick across Dean's face, but once again Sam held his silence. He knew that the best thing to do was to let Dean work through some of what he was feeling before inserting himself into the process. But it was hard not to say anything.

Jo was right that the ice the night before had helped with the marks on Dean's face, though Sam could still see the bruise along his brother's cheekbone and the swelling in Dean's lips where the hand had been held roughly over his mouth. Occasionally Dean would gently prod a sore spot or move his mouth in a way that told Sam he was testing the pain. But Dean didn't say anything, not even the usual prattle he would have been babbling if he'd gotten those marks in a regular bar brawl.

Sam tore his eyes away from his brother and turned his attention to the French toast Jo set in front of him.

Luke came in next, pausing just long enough to rest a hand briefly on Dean's shoulder before crossing to the counter to kiss his wife and pour a cup of coffee. When the boys came in Sam watched Dean draw in on himself, all while smiling at hesitant questions about his welfare and deflecting attention to others in the room.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully with Dean surprisingly tolerant of hovering versions of Michael, Jake and Sam. Tommy lurked around, too, of course, but with a lack of understanding at exactly what had happened that managed to lighten the atmosphere somewhat, diffusing to a degree the over-protective, almost fierce aura the older boys – Sam included – were exuding. It seemed, for the moment, that as long as no one _asked_ how he was doing and limited signs of concern to side-long glances, Dean was content to watch football and ignore everything else.

* * *

The following day, Jo gave Dean and Sam a pass from church, having announced just the week before that any "children" under her roof – however they'd gotten that way – were not excused from Sunday services.

But the incident on Friday was the talk of the town, with the flight and "capture" of the perpetrators being hashed and rehashed by everyone who knew the men. Luke had told Dean that Selma Grady had been apologetic about letting Steve and Jeff get away once Steve had been mobile enough to rouse his friend and stagger out of the building before Luke arrived. Luke had understood her unwillingness to risk trying to force the men to stay by actually shooting them, and frankly, hadn't been too concerned about tracking them down given the givens. But he had been frustrated by the fact that the extra time they'd had to spend bringing the men in had added to the story people had to talk about.

Without Jo or Luke saying it, Dean knew they didn't want to subject him to the curious and concerned questions he was sure to get if he showed up at church. Jo hadn't been completely sure about leaving Dean and Sam by themselves, but after a certain amount of affronted annoyance and reminders that they were, in fact, grown men capable of surviving on their own for a few hours (Friday night aside), Jo had relented.

Rolling his eyes at Sam as Jo finally – _finally_ – got out the door that morning, Dean poured himself a third cup of coffee and a first one for Sam.

Sam grinned in appreciation and propped his feet up the chair next to him. "Maybe we should have a beer while she's gone, too," he suggested and laughed out loud at the expression on Dean's face as his brother seriously considered the possibility.

"We could be totally hammered when they got back," Dean agreed. "That would be awesome." He raised an eyebrow at Sam. "It wouldn't take much. For either of us right now."

The challenge was definitely there, but Sam ignored it with another laugh. "I'll stick to coffee."

Dean sighed. "Coward."

They sat companionably for awhile, and Dean felt himself settle in this moment of just him and Sam. It never ceased to amaze him what a difference the presence of _just Sam_ could make on his sense of well-being. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean looked up from the sports page he'd been scanning, knowing what was coming.

"Are you really doing OK?" Sam had the comics spread out in front of him, elbows resting on the brightly colored newsprint. Jo hadn't had time to braid Sam's hair before she'd left, so it was caught behind his ears mostly, a single stray curl falling into his face and making him look every inch the little girl he was. But even that incongruity didn't change the uncertain concern on his face, an expression so completely _Sam_ that Dean almost didn't register his brother's current form.

Dean made a face, waiting for the stab of annoyance at Sam's question. But it didn't come. He sighed in resignation. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. He nodded slightly. "I think I am."

Sam didn't say anything, just continued to watch him.

"I mean. It was weird. And... scary," he admitted. "In a way I wasn't really ready for." He'd been thinking about it a lot, actually, the difference in the fear he'd felt on Friday compared to the fear he'd experienced on other occasions. Because he'd been scared before. A _lot_ , really, over the years he'd been hunting. And before. Since that night Mom had died.

But this had felt... deeper somehow, more raw. It had been an almost instinctual sort of terror and one he'd never known before. Even when he'd been a 14-year-old boy again, when he'd faced the same threat and the fear had been paralyzing, overwhelming, it had still been... He shook his head, not able to articulate exactly what it was.

Sam didn't say anything and Dean shrugged. "I don't know," Dean said. "It was just..." He stopped again still at a loss for the words he needed.

Finally he shook his head. "But it's like now I ... feel it as ... _me_ , you know. Not... her." And he gestured kind of vaguely to himself. "Like I can separate it?" He looked at Sam, wondering if his brother got was he was trying to say.

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He bit his lip. "It's weird, isn't it?" He hunched slightly forward over the table. "When I walked in and saw them with you it was like I was totally _me_ – pissed off that they were hurting you, but knowing I couldn't do what I needed to do like I am so..."

So Sam had called for help, picked up a pool cue, fought when he could and backed off when he needed to. Dean got that. A Winchester analyzing the situation and acting accordingly.

"But, then. Like this morning." He swallowed. "I saw you and saw where you were hurt and I just wanted to start crying." He was shaking his head in bewilderment. "Like I was really a little girl."

Dean didn't say anything in response to that for a beat. But really. What was Dean supposed to do when Sam gave him a straight line like that?

"Dude." Dean saw the exact moment it registered with Sam what an opening he'd just given his brother. "You're always a little girl."

Sam flipped the comics up to hide his face, rustling them in annoyance when Dean started to laugh.

* * *

On Monday morning, Sam got down to business trying to find a way to break the curse. As usual, they'd arrived at the Sweeds and let their guards down, relaxed into the comfort of home and let the urgency of their situation lessen. No more.

Sam put "harass Bobby" on the top of his to-do list for the day and the rest of the week, shooting off a quick email before he started his own search. He'd gotten a grumpy response a couple of hours later, but the reply had had enough information to get Sam started in a direction he was hopeful about.

That afternoon, Sam let Dean take over the internet searching, both knowing that fresh eyes sometimes saw things that might have been missed.

But in spite of their renewed determination, neither Sam or Dean found anything.

* * *

"You should ask Daisy to the dance," Dean said from the counter where he was choppin up tomatoes for the salad. He'd wandered into the kitchen after several hours of fruitless searching, frustration and anger radiating off his slim body. In an attempt to take his mind off his troubles, Jo had set him to work helping with dinner, slicing vegetables. Though given the energy with which he was wielding the knife, Jo couldn't help but wonder if that had been the best idea.

The somewhat abrupt interruption of Jake's whining seemed to be a hopeful sign.

Jake was slouched at the table – not setting it like he was supposed to be – bemoaning the fact that he'd been too late in asking Carrie Wills to the Homecoming Dance. The girl was leading Jake on a merry chase, constantly around, smiling and flirting, but never available when Jake asked her to do something. It was driving both Jake and the entire family crazy. Though for different reasons.

Jo stilled, feeling Jake's eyes on her back.

"Did Aunt Jo tell you to say that?" he asked accusingly.

Jo turned, eyebrow raised as she pinned Jake with a look for the tone.

Surprised, Dean turned from his task, meeting Jo's eyes quickly. She'd recommended the girl to Jake for a number of occasions and always been treated to rolled eyes and groaning, "Moooooom"s.

"No," Dean said honestly. "She's just a nice girl. I think you'd be cute together." It was said without irony, and Jake narrowed his eyes at Dean uncertainly.

Jo almost choked at Dean's use of the phrase, "I think you'd be cute together." Sometimes it was the smallest of things that emphasized the change in the Winchesters' gender.

"Yeah?" Jake looked at Jo again, who'd recovered enough to return his gaze blandly.

"Yeah." Dean went back to the salad. "I mean, she's smart and funny in a quiet, sneaks-up-on-you kind of way. She's pretty cool looking. And she's really... kind, I guess." He looked at Jake. "Carrie never gives anyone the time of day she doesn't think can't help her in some way."

That made both Jo's eyebrows go up. She agreed, but she thought it was interesting that Dean had noticed it. Jake was scowling.

"I don't think I've seen her say two words to Sammy or Tommy and she's around all the time." Dean shrugged, turned again to his cutting. The expression on Jake's face was thoughtful, even if he looked somewhat offended by the low opinion his friend held the girl of his dreams.

They were interrupted when the other girl in question and her acolytes came into the kitchen. Daisy's sweet nature and genuine interest in the younger children had earned her Tommy's and Sam's complete devotion. They both followed her around like puppies when she was around, and Jo had yet to see her act embarrassed or annoyed by their fairly insistent demands for her attention.

Jo had been aware of Daisy's crush on Jake for a long time and knew that was mostly what accounted for the girl's regular presence at the house or the diner. But Daisy didn't ever compete for Jake's attention. Just watched him uncertainly and let herself be lured into entertaining his little brother and his friend.

"Look," said Sam going to show Jo the sleek French braid Daisy had plaited down the back of his head. Sam's little crush on the girl had manifested itself in letting her play with his hair whenever she wanted. Tommy leaned on the counter next to Jo. He'd asked her just the night before if he could let his hair grow.

"It's so pretty," Jo said with a smile at the girl. "You're going to give Sammy expectations of my hair dressing abilities I'm never going to be able to live up to, sweetheart," she told Daisy.

Daisy picked up the stack of plates Jake had left sitting on the table while he moped, starting to put them in place around the table. "Casey used to do my hair all the time. Practice on me and stuff." She slanted a teasing glance at Dean. "I can teach you, Dee, if you want," she offered. The grin on her face showed she knew exactly how likely it was that Dean would be interested in _that_.

Dean didn't dignify the offer with a response beyond narrowing his eyes at her in offense.

"Yeah, Dee," Jake chortled. "You wanna learn how to braid Sammy's hair?" He was snickering so hard he didn't notice Jo's approach. She rapped him decisively on the top of his head with a wooden spoon. "Ow!" he yelped, ducking.

She tapped him again more gently. "Stop letting Daisy do your job."

With an apologetic hunch of his shoulders, Jake shuffled to his feet, reaching for the handful of silverware Daisy had collected from the drawer after finishing with the plates. "Sorry," he mumbled.

The girl grimaced sympathetically at him as she handed over the utensils. Then went to pull glasses out of the cabinet.

Jo watched Jake watch Daisy out of the corner of his eye. And smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

The phone ringing on the dresser could just be heard over the roar of the vacuum cleaner, and Jo reached for it without thinking.

"Hello?" she answered, turning off the sweeper at the same time.

There was a moment of silence, then, "Jo?"

"Bobby?" Jo asked delightedly. "How _are_ you?"

"Fine," he said slowly, and she realized it was confusion she heard in his voice. "Are the boys with you?" he went on.

"Did they not tell you?" That seemed odd. "They've been here almost a week. Have you been helping them figure out how to reverse the curse?"

Another silence. "Yeah. Workin' on it." He hesitated again. "Did they bring the girls with them?"

Jo frowned. "What girls?"

Silence.

"The girls. The girls who were guys before they got cursed?" Bobby's tone was equal parts _what is wrong with you?_ and _what the hell is going on here?_

"There were other guys who became girls?" Jo was sure she should be following this conversation, but she really wasn't.

There was a significant pause.

"Our boys became girls," Bobby stated, understanding dawning.

"Yes," Jo said. "Were there...?" She broke off. "Ohhhhh," she breathed. _Crap._ "They told you someone else had been cursed."

"Yep," came dryly over the phone. "They told me they didn't have cell service, so we've been communicating over email. But my internet's down today, so I thought I'd see if I could get through."

"They're going to kill me." And she'd deserve it for answering one of their phones.

"Well, we can't have that," Bobby laughed at her. "There's no need to tell 'em we talked. The Dairy Queen in town has free wireless. I can use that 'til I figure out what's going on with mine."

Jo knew she shouldn't deceive Dean and Sam. But that wasn't going to stop her from doing it given the circumstances. "Thank you," she said earnestly.

"I'm going to expect payment, though," Bobby told her.

"Would pictures be sufficient?" she asked solicitously.

"That would be acceptable on my end," Bobby agreed.

"Excellent." That settled, Jo asked, "Any news?"

Bobby huffed out an exasperated breath. "Not really. Often these sorts of curses are cyclical – lunar, diurnal. I just haven't been able to find anything similar enough to give us a pattern."

_ Hormonal? _ Jo wondered uncertainly, but didn't say anything. That seemed so obvious. But what did she know? Jo shrugged to herself. "Well, if it's cyclical, does that mean it will just... stop at some point? Whether you find the pattern or not, doesn't that mean at some point they'll turn back to themselves."

Bobby snorted. "You'd think. But we don't know how long at this point. And if there is a way to break it..." He trailed off.

"Right," Jo said. "That would obviously be better," she acknowledged.

Neither of them said anything for a second. "Well," Jo finally sighed. "I should probably hang up before they realize I've outed them."

Bobby laughed. "Yeah. Keep me posted, though."

"I will," Jo agreed. "I'll try to send you the first installment of our payment plan soon," she offered.

"I'll look forward to getting it."

* * *

"Of course." Dean didn't shout it. He barely even said it out loud.

The lamp flipping on had already wakened Sam, and he rolled toward his brother, blinking unhappily in the glare. "Dean, wh- ?" He muttered.

'Nothing, Sam," Dean said softly. "Go back to sleep."

Sam sat up. "Are you bleeding?"

Dean didn't respond. Just looked at him.

"Oh, man," Sam breathed.

"Yeah," Dean said. But he didn't move, just crouched there looking overwhelmed and uncertain. And disconcertingly like he might cry.

Not sure himself, Sam still swung his legs off the bed. "You... you want me to see if Jo has, you know, anything...?" He trailed off, watching Dean carefully.

His brother nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. That would..." Dean started to get up, frowning down at his pajamas and sheets before raising his eyes to Sam.

"You... Why don't you get cleaned up?" Sam suggested, trying for matter-of-fact and not freaked-the-hell-out. "I- I'll meet you in the bathroom." And with that he fled.

He checked their bathroom first and finding nothing, sprinted toward the stairs, suddenly afraid that maybe Jo was past that point in her life, wondering semi-hysterically when menopause set in and if they were well and truly screwed in terms of finding something that would...

He turned on the light in the upstairs bathroom and started rummaging through the cabinets. He'd just found what he was looking for when Jo walked in.

"Honey? Is everything...?" Her eyebrows went up into her hairline when she recognized the package he was clutching.

"Um," Sam bit his lip. Nodded when she took a surprised breath of realization. "Yeah," he said. "Dean got his period."

She put her hand over her mouth, and Sam felt a twinge of protective annoyance when he saw she was trying not to laugh. He frowned at her, but she was already shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry. It's not funny. I know that. It's just..." She was still shaking her head, but getting herself under control.

And Sam had to acknowledge that maniacal laughter might not actually be an unreasonable response to the situation.

"Our lives are so weird," he said heavily.

* * *

"So. I understand our little girl has become a woman," Luke said into the silence after the boys had left for school. He grinned, enjoying the moment to tease.

Sam made a disapproving noise in his throat, scowling at Luke. Luke winked at him and reached out to flick the end of Sam's braid. Sam tossed his head irritably, swishing his hair out of the man's touch.

Dean tensed, but he didn't raise his head from paper he was reading. Luke thought that his hilarity wasn't going to be acknowledged at all. Except that a tear dripped off the end of Dean's nose.

Luke blinked.

"Luke," Jo scolded, shaking her head at him.

Dean got up and left the room.

Luke sighed. "Well, shoot," he muttered and pushed back his chair to follow.

It took awhile, but eventually Luke found the kid hunched in the backseat of the Impala, arms crossed over his chest, knees tucked up tightly. His bare feet were braced on the leather seats pushing him firmly into the corner against the door. He glared at Luke when he opened the opposite door.

"Hey, kiddo." Luke bent over to speak into the car. "I'm sorry."

Dean wasn't looking at him again. But he shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"Yeah it does," Luke disagreed. He slid onto the seat, but left the door open next to him. "I was trying to be funny, and... well, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"My feelings aren't hurt," Dean muttered. "I'm embarrassed and pissed and every freaking emotion I have leaks out of my _eyes._ " At this more tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks. "God damn it," he ground out, wiping angrily at his face. "How do they even _function_ like this?" he demanded fiercely of Luke, like he should have an answer.

Luke didn't. "It's not the same for every woman," he said. "Some get more emotional with their periods than others. Jo..."

"Are you saying I'm being overly-emotional?" Dean asked.

_ Uh. _

Luke cleared his throat.

"Because I think I'm being pretty rational given the circumstances," Dean wobbled unsteadily. "I mean. Not every guy could be turned into a girl and handle it this well." His voice hitched. "Cuz this is really weird and ..."

To Luke's horror, Dean started to cry in earnest, hiccupping sobs and mucus-flying kind of crying. Frozen for a moment, eventually Luke eased over warily to put an arm around shuddering shoulders, ready to withdraw at the slightest indication that the contact was unwelcome. When Dean didn't growl at him or try to gut him, Luke started to pat on the kid awkwardly, unable to understand more than one in five of the words that escaped during the meltdown.

"And what if we're stuck like this," Dean wailed

Grasping desperately at something that finally made sense, Luke soothed, "You're not going to be stuck like this, baby, you'll..."

"Stop calling me that!" Dean snarled. "I'm not your freaking _daughter_!" He shoved abruptly out of Luke's one-armed embrace to scramble over into the front seat.

_ Okaaaaaaaay. _

Luke took a deep breath. "You're not going to be stuck like this, Dean," he tried again, speaking as evenly as he could.

"How do you _know_? We haven't found _anything_! _Bobby_ hasn't found anything! We could be girls forever. How the hell are we supposed to hunt like this? I can't..."

"Aren't there women hunters?" Luke asked. "What about that daughter of your dad's friend? Doesn't she...?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean admitted impatiently, waving a dismissive hand. "But..."

"Dean." Luke decided he was done with this. "You're not going to be a little girl forever." He said it as if that settled the matter, and raised a peremptory hand when Dean opened his mouth to go on. Dean shut it. Sniffed, but didn't go on, turning to gaze out the front windshield.

Luke took a second to look at Dean with genuine concern. "Are you OK?" he asked. "You got it in under control?"

Dean heaved a huge sigh. Appeared to think about it. "Yeah," he mumbled.

"Good," Luke said. He scooted back toward the door. "I'm going to go drink my coffee."

"Luke?" Small voice. Luke glanced over the seatback to meet Dean's eyes. "'m sorry," the kid said softly, lip caught between teeth, expression contrite.

Luke closed his eyes in resignation. _Girls_. "It's OK," he said, just managing to avoid adding _sweetheart_. "Let's go finish breakfast."

* * *

"Are you feeling OK, honey?"

Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over slightly, arms crossed over his midriff flipping through a magazine. He shrugged without looking at her, face creased unhappily.

"Does your stomach hurt?"

He nodded this time in addition to lifting one shoulder.

"Feels kind of tight and uncomfortable along here?" She indicated her lower abdomen.

He looked at her now, expression glum, a _yes_ in the crinkle above his nose and around his eyes.

"I think you've got cramps."

Dean sagged in defeat, and he looked like he might be blinking back tears again.

_ Oh, sweetie _ , she thought, but didn't say. Instead she crossed to the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of Advil. She shook two tablets into her hand and gave them to him with a glass of water. He swallowed them down and went back to his reading, rubbing a thumb surreptitiously under an eye.

Jo paused beside him and then ran a gentle hand over his head. When he didn't duck out from under her touch, she kept up the motion, threading soothing fingers through the silkiness of his hair.

"Would a heating pad help, do you think, sweetheart?"

He didn't respond beyond a hesitant motion in his shoulders. She noticed the twitch of his head, though, looking back toward the family room, checking for the boys.

"It's just you and me, baby," she said softly. "They don't have to know."

Now Dean turned in his chair and finally looked up at her.

She smiled. "Come on. We'll get you set up on the couch. See if we can find you a movie." The smile deepened into a grin she couldn't help as she brushed her knuckles over his cheek. "Maybe on _Lifetime_ ," she teased.

Dean rolled his eyes, then surprised her with a lopsided grin. " _Mother May I Sleep with Danger_?" he suggested.

Jo laughed. "You should be so lucky," she said.

* * *

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, Dean unable to do anything but accept what was happening to him and learn to go with the flow. As it were.

The morning after his period ended, Dean woke up and squirmed slightly at the constriction of something around his waist. Blearily, he tried to alleviate the discomfort, by stretching his legs out as far as they would go. He grimaced when he realized he'd caught his feet in the tucked-in blanket at the end of his bed. With a muttered grunt he shifted up towards the head of the bed. And bonked the top of his head on the headboard.

"Shit," he yelped. Deeply. He blinked.

"Dude. Shut up." Sam's muffled complaint was said from under the covers, just the top of a tousled – large – head peeking out. His unhappy grumble was a low rumble.

"Sam!" Dean barked, staring first at Sam and then down the length of bed. Wiggled toes that much farther away than they'd been the night before. "Look!" He tossed the covers away – long hairy legs, broad hands, and a flat chest. "Look!" he demanded again.

Sleepily and resentfully, Sam poked his head out from the blanket. "What?"

"Look!"

Befuddled by sleep, Sam frowned at Dean for a long second. He opened his mouth to complain again and then shut it as his eyes widened comically. "Hey!" he said. "HEY!" He glanced down at himself. "Hey, we're us!" he caroled.

"I _know_!" Dean shouted giddily.

They both fell out of bed.

Dean jumped to his feet and stood, almost twitching with excitement, staring at his brother.

"What should we do?" Sam was practically vibrating with the same jittery energy Dean felt skipping through his own body.

Dean grinned. "Let's go beat up on the boys." His eyes travelled down Sam, an eyebrow lifting at the shredded boxers his brother had been sleeping in. And was suddenly aware that his own sleep wear was way too tight. "But let's change first."

* * *

It never made Jo happy to be awakened by the slamming of a door against the wall of the boys' bedroom. This morning was no exception.

She groaned in frustration, biting out, "I am so gonna..."

But she was interrupted by an eruption of bangs and yells from down the hall.

"Dean! _Dean!_ Stop! STOP!" The shrieks were rising in pitch and intensity. "No! Sam! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, DON'T..." There was more muffled thumping and what Jo realized was laughter, as she jolted up in bed. She sank back down when she realized that the shouts weren't actually indications her children were being murdered in their beds.

Just barely she heard the sound of Dean's adult, male voice drifting from the boys' room. "Payback's a bitch. Bitches." More screaming and giggling echoed through the house.

Jo maneuvered herself upright as Luke joined her, draping an arm over her shoulders and settling against the headboard.

"Ah, the sweet sound of children's voices in the morning," he sighed.

* * *

"Yeah. Turns out it was cyclical and the guys just turned back to themselves." Dean shook his head ruefully at Sam sitting across the table from him. Sam grinned and ducked his head to take a pull on the straw of his milkshake.

"Cyclical how? There wasn't a new moon last night."

Dean scratched uncomfortably at the back of his head. "No. It wasn't lunar, it..." He trailed off. He so didn't want to say it. Even if Bobby wouldn't understand the implications.

"Well, how?" Bobby demanded impatiently.

Dean didn't answer.

"Dean," Bobby barked.

"It was..." Dean cleared his throat. "Hormonal, I guess, you'd say." He squinted at Sam, whose shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. Dean flipped him off, and Sam snorted chocolate shake out of his nose.

"Hormonal?" Bobby asked impatiently. "What do you mean?"

_ Are you kidding me? _ "Hormonal, dude," Dean snapped back. "What do you think I mean?"

There was a moment of silence.

"You mean menstrual?" Bobby's voice sounded oddly strangled.

"Yeah, man. _That_." Dean could feel the blush on his cheeks and his eyes darted over to Sam who was busy pulling the computer out of its bag and had missed Dean's embarrassed reaction.

There was a succession of weird noises on the other end of the phone, and Dean scowled in confusion.

"Bobby, what the hell?"

A couple of gurgling gasps sputtered over the line. "Yeah. OK. Got it." Bobby exhaled gustily and managed, "You boys OK?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't we be?" Dean asked rhetorically. "We got something that looks like a gig up in Maine we're headed to. Just wanted to check in now that we've, uh, got cell service again."

"Good. I appreciate it." There was something amused in Bobby's tone that Dean didn't quite like. "Hey, I found something I thought you boys might want to see while I was researching your gender-swapping curse. I'll email it to you after we hang up."

Dean shrugged, noting that Sam had gotten the laptop set up. _We got wireless?_ He mouthed to his brother. At Sam's nod, Dean told Bobby, "We're online, so send it on."

"Will do," Bobby said. "I'll talk to you boys soon."

"'K. See ya, man."

Dean hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket. "Bobby's sending us somethin'," he said to Sam before tucking into his hamburger.

Sam acknowledged him with an absent grunt.

Neither of them said anything as Sam did some research, and Dean finished up his lunch.

"Here it is," Sam said, clicking. He paled.

"What?"

"Oh, no," Sam breathed.

"Dude. What?" Dean reached for the computer and Sam surrendered it without a fight. He was watching Dean with wide, tragic eyes.

It was a picture. Full screen. And in color.

Two young girls were sitting on the front porch rail of the Sweeds' house. The older girl was leaning against one support pole while the younger one was slouched against the other. The girls had their jean-clad legs stretched along the rail in front of them, sneakered feet crossed at the ankles. Neither child was looking at the camera. Long brown braids fell over the shoulders of the little girl on left side of the frame, and she was watching the teenager opposite her with a wide, adoring smile. The girl on the right had lighter brown hair that had blown over her face, and the photographer had captured her in the act of pushing it behind her ears, grinning back at the other girl, crinkles around her eyes and bright freckles over the bridge of her nose.

Along the bottom the caption read, "Sammy (11) and Dee (15) Winchester watch the boys play football."

Dean brought his gaze up to Sam's stricken face.

"Bobby says, 'There's more where that came from,'" Sam whispered.

Dean closed his eyes. "We are so screwed."

* * *

_ End. _


End file.
